Between the Adventures of Laurelin Vo'Shai--Book I
by Pyreiris
Summary: As Nightingale, Master of the Thieves Guild, Laurelin is happy and has a plan for the future. However it all comes crashing down when she nearly loses her head at Helgen. It won't be the last time as she struggles to secure a positive outcome for herself, and all she loves.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One-Fly Home Nightingale**

Laurelin Vo'Shai took a deep breath and let it out in a long, slow sigh of contentment. This moment was perfect. Dawns light was just beginning to bleed up the velvet black mantle of night cloaking the land. Tiny swirls of pearly mist crept around the white boles of the aspens on the lake shore. Pale golden leaves glistened and quivered in amorphous clouds over each stark branch. The last trill of the last night bird pierced the morning, a lovely keening note, underscored by the whisper of the morning zephyr.

"Like passing through a rainbow, there and gone." Laurelin breathed to herself. Her lovers arms slid tighter under the snow bear pelt covering their bare limbs. Her delicate hand played across the hair of his chest, felt his heart thumping steadily away.  
"Hmm?" he mumbled sleepily, turning his face and opened compellingly beautiful emerald eyes to gaze into Laurelin's icy blues. She smiled and kissed his nose.

"Nothing, really. Just thinking aloud. Go back to sleep love". She looked back over the side of the tiny fishing boat they had tucked themselves into last night, out at the brightening shore. Her eyes seemed to drink in every detail of the scenery. It was too lovely to ruin with talk of business.

Her lover, having _not_ returned to sleep, noted her evasion. The set of her jaw told him 'nothing really' was 'something really'. He liked to think of himself as a patient man, but trying to out wait a contemplative elf-well this man was human after all. It wasn't long before he had to act, draw her out. His blunt forefinger hooked around her chin, pulling her gaze from the mountains she'd been scrutinizing so intently. His thumb feathered over her pursed lips, eliciting a hungry smile in return. His voice-which Laurelin thought of as warm honey poured over thunder- finally broke the silence as they gazed at each other.

"What weighs so heavily on your mind Lass?" he rumbled softly. Laurelin loved the music in his voice, loved the way he called her 'Lass'. When he called her that, she almost felt young again. Almost. Another sigh whispered passed her lips before she began.

"Bryn, I need to go home for a while. A month at the least, maybe two or three."

His deep chuckle sounded briefly as he craned his head around and gazed up at the back porch of Laurelin's house. "I take it you'll not be meaning yon manse?" He arched an eyebrow at her, half smile fluttering uncertainly across his handsome face.

"No Bryn, not yon manse. Valenwood." She matched his half smile with one of her own. Describing Honeyside as a manse was being a trifle free with the definition of manse. Brynjolf loved fancy sounding words though, and the word had a certain polish to it.

"So, were ye going to tell me before you vanished into the woods, or leave a pretty smelling note?" He paused realizing he was sounding more upset than he should be. "How long before you leave? Lass, I need you here to keep things with Maven and the Jarl running smoothly! Divines above, we've only just wrested a bit of control from Mavens fist and now you're going camping?" He noticed the slight frown at his last remark and bit his lip. "Sorry that was out of line. I can tell you don't want to go. You just took me by surprise is all."

"_His accent always becomes more pronounced when he's upset_," she thought."_Or very happy..._" Laurelin hugged him closer saying, "The Divines above know I'm glad to finally have the Guild doing so well. We've both-all of us worked so hard to get where we are. I'm proud of you and the others, in ways I can't say. Take it as a mark of faith in your abilities Bryn. I wouldn't leave if it wasn't important, nor if you were not up to the task." Her expression implored him to understand, and he did.

"What_ is_ so important that you must leave now?" He leaned forward and let his warm lips trail softly up her jaw, tease the tip of one finely pointed ear. Her eyes closed as she shivered with sudden thrills.

"Family, dearest, I need to return for my family. A-" she paused briefly, "there was a courier for me earlier. He had a letter."

"Aye they usually do at that. Was this one at least wearing his trousers?" He stopped teasing her ear and looked her squarely in the eyes when she didn't chuckle. "What was it, lovely one?"

"News, both fair and foul I'm sad to say." Brynn appeared somewhat mollified and nodded for her to continue. While she was collecting her thoughts, slender fingers idly traced the out line of his jaw, thumb skimmed over his short red whiskers. How do you tell your lover of three years something like this. It had simply never came up. Now it would be plain strange. "Well the fair news is actually joyous-my youngest daughter is nearing the time of her own first birth. I would be there to welcome my newest grandchild into the Light of Living."

He studied her face, waiting for the punchline. His lass was a notorious trickster and loved a good joke. Seeing she was in earnest however, he asked "So why in all of these years have you not mentioned you have children? Grandchildren! Some of those harpies out in the market can shriek about theirs, all day long with out taking a single breath."

"I don't speak of them because of the separation I feel, the pain. Well, it can be staggering sometimes how much I miss them. If I allow it."

"How many do you have?"

"Children? Three. Two daughters, one son. I think I was surprisingly prolific for a Bosmer."

"And the grandchildren?"

"Four-three now. That is the heart shattering, bad news. As Matriarch of our little clan I must go and perform the family rites and conduct the mourning. For my oldest grandson. He was killed in a raid." Laurelin gulped down chilly air, biting her knuckles hard, trying to choke back the the angry tears she was not allowed to shed yet. Bryn held her close, stroked her white-gold hair. For once his glib tongue could offer no comfort. So he kissed her forehead, and twined their long fingers together. When she finally smiled up at him again, he knew the worst was passed.

His wicked smile lit his face up as he said "I was thinking-"

"Marvels abound!" she cut in.

"-that maybe I should stop calling you Lass," scooping her up and rolling her over his chest, so she straddled his hips.

"Don't you dare ever stop," she chided. "That's an order!"

"Yes Ma'am-Gran'ma-Boss-errr Susannah?" He fended off several playful slaps as he cooed out each name in that _'take me now'_ tone he used sometimes. The last one earned him an unexpected thump to his chest and he finally cried out "Lass! Okay lass it is, now and forever. Oww."

Laurelin rubbed the spot she had punched. "Serves you right. Anyway, where were we?"  
"You were dumping me I think, or was it you were dumping a whole load of work on me? Something like that." A troubled expression raced across his face to disappear again. "I suppose between Delvin and Vex we can handle the lads and lasses well enough."

"Don't forget, Karliah is right around the corner. I know you can do this love! _You_ have always been the motivating force behind our new success, but _you_ need to have some faith in yourself. The Lads all do. I do." Laurelin whooped softly as he rolled them over, the boat rocking sharply for a moment then stilling. Brynjolf's warm, smooth lips hovered over hers for an enticing moment, then quirked and pulled slightly back.

"Does this mean I claim your share of the lads take while you are away?" His lovely eyes twinkled down, threatening her resolve.

"Aye, I suppose it does. There is just the matter of mine own fees..."

"Oh? Those being?" Mischief and desire danced together on his smiling face. Dimple on one side, jagged scar on the the other. With or with out the scar, Bryn smiling like that made him the most appealing human she had ever met.

Laurelin pulled his head closer, claiming the kiss he had just denied her. He straightened the bearskin over them as she breathed in his scent and moaned. "We can discuss terms here in my office." His arms gathered her into his embrace, banishing grief and duty for the precious moments they stole together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two- Captive**

Laurelin hefted her small pack onto her shoulders, slender arms moving in coordinated grace, buckling the straps with a few quick snaps of her long, tapered fingers. A crude hunting bow and quiver followed, an easy comfort in her mind, always ready. She took one last look around last nights fireless camp as she braided long white-blond hair back out of her face.

It was time to be going. The final pass into Skyrim loomed tall before her, icy and treacherous. However, with skill and a little luck, she could be back to Riften inside a week. Laurelin started out, whistling softly. Her pale, wide spaced eyes traveled up her path as she hiked ever further up.

Soon her steps carried her out of the frigid depths of the forest blanketing the mountain slope, and she was crossing a stony, steep blanket of blinding white. Laurelin moved silent and sure, light steps barely dimpling the crisp snow underfoot. Memories crowded her mind, joy and sorrow woven so tightly together in her heart they could never be separated.

Two months had barely dimmed the anguish of loosing her oldest grandson. She had purified herself, sang the song of Leave Taking, led the family through the rituals. She never wanted to do it again. A mere month to hold her newest, cuddling him close, staring raptly into his wide, wise eyes. She had so reluctantly kissed his forehead-that she could do forever- whispered a blessing, and returned the tiny bundle to her daughter. Farewells had been simple, pleasantly short. Laurelin knew it might be a dozen or so years before she saw them again. However, such long separations were common enough to a race of people who might live several more centuries than Laure already had.

Now the final ascent over the pass was climbing steadily up, leading her yet farther from that chapter of her life. Cresting the last rise, Laurelin paused and looked out, down into Skyrim, smiling widely. Interesting things always seemed to happen in this small, beautiful land. She picked her way easily down slope, heading east by north toward Riften. Laure hoped to cut out several hours of slow boulder scrambling by hitting a jagged, low crest of rock that poked up above the tree line. Going over rather than around was much more her style.

With her mind alternating between thoughts of family, and her need to hunt, Laurelin should not have been surprised to find herself in an up close and personal encounter with a mother bear. Yet she was. Nose to snout with a startled bear. Charming. Laure summoned up her power, let her mind fill with non threatening thoughts, and urged the snorting beast to remain calm, while the tiny elf slowly inched back, arms loose, ready to tumble away if she needed to.

"I see your youngling, brave mother. I won't hurt your cub. You should go find some salmon. Keep cub fed." She imparted these sensations cautiously. Bears were the most skittish of all beasts when it came to persuading them their offspring were safe. Laurelin was now two, three paces away, edging further out of reach. The giant shaggy mother turned her beady eyes to search out her cub. He huddled nearby, grunting curiously. Swinging her eyes back to where the intruder has stood, only the scent of leather and furs remained.

Laurelin laughed and cursed herself as she scampered quickly over the nearest rock piles. That had been entirely too close! She had all but hinged the creatures mouth open and crawled in! A little more awareness on her part might not be amiss she decided. Thus was Laurelin further surprised the next moment to discover she had-laughing and singing no less- leaped straight into a newly awakened regiment of Imperial soldiers. "Damnation and hellfire!" she swore to herself, song forgotten.

Two dozen pairs of eyes fixed on her with alarming hostility painting every face. Laurelin kept her arms out, teetering on her toes, poised lightly on the rock she had just bounded onto. Frozen in place.

"Hold right there!" Several of the regiment barked together. Swords began appearing in gauntleted fists. A swift glance around showed several soldiers already surrounding her, cutting off a quick escape. Arms still up and out, hands empty of weapons, she relaxed back onto her heels, hoping to put them at ease.

A lieutenant marched forward, shoving a few regulars out of his way. His dark eyes moved from the barbaric elf figure before him to the woods behind her. Two flicks of his fingers and one group of three men surrounded Laurelin more tightly, another group moved off to search for possible spies in the woods. "Hold there, elf. What business do you have here?"

Laurelin shrugged and said in her low musical voice, "I return to Skyrim from my homeland.. I was attending to family matters, nothing more." She levelly returned his stare and waited.

"Is that so? So where might you be headed?"

"Riften is my destination this fine morning. Jarl Laila has told me I need to join her for supper soon. I was going to take her up on her offer." While not one hundred percent accurate, there was truth to what she said. Some. Laila did like her to come for supper, however Laure had plans that included a certain red-headed rogue, not the Jarl.

The lieutenant scowled, clearly not believing this ruffian was in sweet and cozy with the Jarl of Riften. Not that it mattered to him anyway. "Take her, we'll let the Captain sort her out."

Laurelin dropped like a fresh corpse to the ground, tumbling and rolling, desperately trying to evade the multitude of hands grabbing for her. What felt like scores of iron pincers clamped around her her arms, legs, pack, pulled her hair forcefully. She struggled briefly then stilled, understanding that if she resisted further she'd just be thrashed until unable to resist any more. She swallowed back taunting curses, furious with herself, with them. "Damned Imperials! Damn you Laurelin Vo'Shai!" She gritted her teeth as she watched her pack emptied and searched, her bow and quiver kicked aside in the mud.

"Now sit quiet elf, while we figure out what comes next." The lieutenant had unnecessarily ordered her before striding off, his armor creaking as he went. The sun was high in the sky and Laurelin was growing thirsty when he returned. "I have some pretty bracelets for you to wear!" _As if he was clever and that was funny_. Laurelin, mortified was shackled and chained to the side of a wagon. Her fetters were short, wouldn't allow her much room for anything at all she quickly discovered. She could squat, and she could stand. So she stood, angrily staring at the smug man in front of her. "Tell me elf, what do you know of Ulfric Stormcloak and his movements?"

She blinked in surprise, her lips pursed together. "Ulfric? He's the Jarl of Windhelm and the leader of the Stormcloak rebellion. I've heard that he may or may not have killed the High King in Solitude. Other than that I can not say more." She waited, wondered what this was about, having too many suspicions of her own.

"Can not or will not say?" muttered the man caustically.

Laurelin's temper flared "I know little enough about the whole thing, and I desire to know even less after this horseshit! What is this about"? The officer spun on his heel and marched away with out answer. Shortly a regular came up to her with a cup and a bundle of tattered looking clothes. The cup had broth, warm and savory. Laure blew across the top until it was cool enough to drink and tipped it back in one long swallow.

The soldier who had brought her the broth admired her lean figure while she hunched on her heels, looking up at him over the brim of the wooden cup. "Never seen an elf before, serah?"

He grinned lewdly at her and replied "Never seen one look so... feral before. The Aldmeri never wear um..." he gestured vaguely at her garb.

"Skins, they are called by some, young one. Or pelts. Furs even." She managed to say it mildly with just the right hint of reproof in her tone. He blushed and thrust his bundle at her, taking the cup from her out stretched hands.

"Lieutenant wants you to put these on." Laurelin heaved a sigh. Such an obvious ploy. As if making her change clothes would change her story. The boy in front of her continued, "he said I was to unchain you and allow you his tent to change. Put on some proper clothes."

Laurelin snorted scornfully, and untied the few leather laces keeping her primitive leggings and mantle wrapped around her, let them drop piece after piece until she stood naked and proud before the entire camp. "Spare me the false courtesies, all of you. I won't appreciate them."

Mouth agape, cheeks burning crimson, the lad turned away, fleeing with a wooden cup forgotten in one hand. He definitely needed to be far away from this proud, wild, very naked elf. He could feel her creepy white-blue eyes lashing over his back. Ducking slightly he fled faster. The whistles and jeers of the regiment followed his frantic steps.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three-Escape**

The shift Laurelin was made to wear did precisely nothing to protect her from the icy nights. It was scratchy, much mended, barely reaching to her knees. On a taller person it would have been a long shirt. Her eyebrows rose in mild admonishment as it dropped over her head. She was finally allowed her furs back, at least. One day passed and another, Laure still chained to the wagon, being led to the bushes twice a day so she could piss. She refused to eat so she wouldn't have to shit in front of her captors. Nakedness was one thing, but her fury rose when they led her around the camp like a leashed dog. Her anger was restrained but evident, so they certainly did move around her with a certain wariness.

Late in the second day of her captivity the regiment captured some poor fool who had tried to steal one of the soldiers' horses. The horse thief was chained up as well, on the other side of the cart Laurelin currently called jail. This was becoming ridiculous! She paced the whole step she could take to each side and ignored the apparently chatty horse thief as much as possible. Sometimes low growls would rumble ominously in her chest as she watched the soldiers closely.

Laurelin was quite adept at being completely still. It was a needed discipline when hunting. She couldn't understand why she paced now. Normally she would have simply folded her legs and meditated until they released her. Something was amiss, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Finally she forced herself to squat down and relax. Her breath slowly evened out; her mind cleared. She realized there seemed to be a brittle quality to the air, as if the very sky might shatter. Her skin felt charged and tingled annoyingly. She frequently felt as though invisible fingers were plucking at her hair. That second night, wolves prowled near the camp, their yips and howls making the Imperials nervous, but Laurelin didn't mind. _Let the bastards sweat a little_.

Still, she was unable to rest for long and found herself again pacing, tugging her chains, waiting for anything to happen that would relieve this tension. Finally, early the next morning Laurelin noticed a scout slip back into camp and speak to the regiment leader. Within moments, the lieutenant snapped out, "All right, quietly to your assigned posts. If you spoil this because you aren't in place, out of sight, and silent, the captain has assured me we will all be on latrine duty for the next year. I don't like digging shit holes, so let's do this right. Move it!" With this inspiring speech echoing in their thoughts, the regiment moved out, leaving only two guards watching over the prisoners.

One came over to Laurelin and placed a pair of leather cuffs reinforced with steel links around her wrists while the horse thief-Lokir was his name apparently-got his own set. They were then gagged and hog tied, finally heaved into the back of the wagon. Her chains were gone at last, but this was hardly better. Laurelin managed to struggle her way up to a sitting position where she could at least get a better view around her.

Most of the soldiers weren't very good at hiding, nor were they very stealthy. Laurelin was able to see a clean dozen of them without trying. She amused her larcenous self with envisioning their pockets, being swiftly emptied while they tried to hunker down in the shrubs and herself making away with everything of value they owned. Magically it would all be in their pockets. _Sure_. With nothing else to do, but wait, Laure sat, gagged, bored and furious. Why were they keeping her prisoner? _When would they let me go?_

Soon the sound of horse hooves echoing loudly on the stones reached up the hill. Everyone waited, still and quiet. When the fighting finally erupted, it was swift and brutal. The ambush seemed to have caught someone by surprise, pathetic though it seemed to the bound elf sitting in her cart, trussed like a holiday pheasant. Laurelin couldn't see the actual battle, but she could hear swords clashing, men screaming as they went down to the ground, bleeding. A few exceptionally loud shouts echoed through the trees and faded.

The horse thief turned to face Laurelin and mumbled something around his gag. Laure flexed her jaw painfully and slid the cloth out of her teeth against her shoulder. "Sssh, now _isn't_ the time to try anything. They return!" He nodded, wide eyed. Another wiggle of her jaw and tongue had the coarse cloth back between her teeth, leeching away the scant moisture in her mouth.

The two men left to guard Lokir and Laurelin stood stiffly at attention nearby, watching the woods with eager eyes. They knew if the plan worked, they had a fat bonus added to their pay. Soon enough the Imperials began filtering back into camp, both elated and dismayed. They had carried the day but lost many brave soldiers. The largest group returned, crashing through the bushes loudly now, pushing and shoving prisoners-Stormcloaks all. Only a handful remained alive. The rest had been left where they had fallen.

The prisoners were bound and shoved into the carts, and the camp was dismantled swiftly. The lieutenant, bleeding from several wounds, came up and looked over the side of the cart at Laurelin. Pointing to the little Bosmer and Lokir he barked, "Ungag them, and take off the ankle restraints too. Now let's roll out, men!"

Laurelin settled back as the wagon rattled down the long slope, her eyes surreptitiously taking in the position of each soldier as they marched. She was beginning to suspect her captors had no intention of simply releasing her. Eerily pale eyes moved over one of the prisoners in her cart. He was a brawny, long-haired Nord, shoulders hunched forward as he stared thoughtfully at his dirty boots. As her gaze roved up from his boots to his features she noticed he was gagged. A swift glance about showed her he was the only one to still be so. Curious but absorbed with trying to formulate a way out of this bind, she dismissed the big human from her mind.

Laurelin's chance finally came. Two of the soldiers riding behind had dropped back several cart lengths, passing a skin furtively between themselves. Laure had slowly brought her knees up to her chest as if to keep warm and rested her cheek against them, closing her eyes to tiny slits. Feigning sleep wasn't too difficult; she was exhausted in reality.

The wagon shook and shuddered as it went around a tight bend, taking the rearguard out of view. The soldiers marching to the sides had all funneled forward as the road narrowed around the corner. Heels planted firmly on the board bench, Laure winked at the horse thief and shot off the splintery wood, her leg muscles flexing and pushing her up and over the side. Her back arched as she tried to spin a complete flip but; the position was too awkward, and she sailed feet over head toward the ground, which crunched into her shoulder as she sprawled painfully down.

She immediately threw herself into another backwards tumble, away from the wheels of the wagon. Shouts erupted from all around her as another shouting body thudded down nearby-the horse thief, wildly trying to scramble back to his feet. Laurelin wished him luck as she continued to roll, this time to the left. The sound of steel boots and heavily-shod hooves goaded Laurelin to her feet, where she quickly ducked low as the first arrow whispered by her shoulder.

The nearly naked Bosmer froze as that shaft thudded deeply into the ground behind her. The horse thief was curled up on the ground, ruthlessly held down by the boots of two soldiers. Something told her this escape was not meant to be. _Not yet_. Her cuffed hands rose over her head. "I yield!" she cried bitterly.

Furious men swarmed around, completely severing her slender hope of freedom. The hilt of a sword rose and flashed down, carved pommel striking her pale head. Laurelin slumped to the ground, unconscious. Still captive.

* * *

Laurelin awoke to blurred vision and a splitting headache. The world slowly resolved itself around her, the dizziness finally retreating. She was back in the wagon, with Lokir and the two Stormcloaks she'd noticed before. Lokir and one of the Nords were rambling on about home and political nonsense, so she listened with most of her attention elsewhere. The snowy peaks rising all around did not immediately clue Laure in to their whereabouts. Trees, tall and thick, obscured most of the terrain. Then off in the distance she spied the Throat of the World, towering high over everything.

The pain in her head seemed to be lessening slowly, but she noticed the strange brittle quality of the air was back, stronger than before. Laurelin searched the sky, but there were only a few pale wisps of cloud far overhead. Certainly no thunderheads to charge the air and make it feel so fragile. Pulling her gaze down from the azure sky, Laure noticed once more the big Nord with sullen, dark eyes next to her. He was still gagged and moodily staring at his toes. Why exactly was he still gagged when the rest of the prisoners were free to chat quietly?

An earlier snippet of conversation popped into her head. Was this truly Ulfric Stormcloak himself? The gag suddenly made perfect sense, as well as the extra guards riding close and alert about the wagon. A dark suspicion welled up in Laurelin's pained thoughts. _ If they think I was even remotely involved I'm as good as dead._ Casting her gaze skyward again, she began preparing herself for her last-ditch attempt to escape.

She forced her breathing to slow, stilled her mind, putting away fear and the pain in her body, willing herself to become less noticeable. Drawing on her Nightingale abilities was dangerous-she ran the very real risk of not being able to cloak herself enough to get away. Laurelin knew in her heart this was probably her last chance. As it stood, even if she did manage to evade the inevitable pursuit, she would still be bound, and nearly naked. It would be damned inconvenient.

A flashing glimpse of something huge flying low over the nearby foothills banished her concentration. As a consummate hunter, Laure knew this was something she'd never encountered before. What in Tamriel was it? At the moment it was irrelevant. Right now escape was foremost in her thoughts. As she tried to still her mind again, intent on escaping-living!-shouts from ahead reached her ears. The Imperials surrounding her waved and called back to the short armored figure on a stone wall ahead. _Ah. Helgen._

* * *

_Dearest Bryn, it feels so long since I've heard your voice. So much has happened, I hardly know where to begin! I write this from a tiny hamlet called Riverwood. The last few months have been eventful to say the least. I made it safely to Valenwood and have returned to Skyrim. However, as I was hastening back toward Riften I was captured by a few units of Imperial soldiers. They also coincidentally caught and subsequently lost Ulfric Stormcloak. We escaped execution by a mere breath! Bryn, my head was on the block! That aside, I feel our savior won't be very welcome around the supper table. Dragons, Bryn! I've seen one with my own eyes, felt the heat of its fiery breath as it tore Helgen down around us. Whether you believe me or not, best prepare the lads and lasses for a hard storm; things look to get quite nasty very soon._

_The mill owner here in Riverwood has asked me to alert Balgruuf, the Jarl of Whiterun, of this momentous, terrible news. I will gather what information I can along the way and be back in the Flagon as soon as possible. Please take care of yourself. Think, love, legends have returned! How will we fare? Hopefully disgustingly richer, and still alive to enjoy it, eh?_

_Walk with Shadows,_

_Laurelin_

Deeply ruing the day she had left Riften with no money, armor, or supplies, Laurelin spent a few of the coin she had scrounged in Helgen on a couple of basic items. Since emerging from the smoking ruins, she had managed to replace her rags with some fur armor, leggings, gauntlets, even a cheap iron sword and hunting bow. All she'd needed were some decent arrows. "I suppose it's best I wasn't wearing full guild armor, or the Nightingale. They would have been lost or burned to a crisp in the inferno." she muttered to herself.

Laurelin departed Riverwood with little fanfare. Everyone was too busy watching the skies, gossiping, worrying. Whiterun was an easy walk from Riverwood, and soon after she crossed the river, she could see the proud roof of Dragonsreach reaching into the sky.

As usual, she left the road as soon as possible. All sorts of creepy types lurked near them, and Laure had no desire for any further confrontations to slow her down. She was able to take a few fine, fat rabbits as she walked, figuring what she didn't eat could be traded for some coin. Or a pint of something strong. Maybe a few pints at that. Silent and watchful, she descended to the plain.

Down lower, the trees had been hacked back, great jagged stumps poking up here and there along the outskirts of several farms dotted about Whiterun. Laurelin's sharp ears picked up shouts and bellows coming from very nearby as she was skirting in between two farms. She had learned her lesson from the last few days of imprisonment and instantly had her bow strung and arrow knocked. A moment later as she rounded the side of a barn in a crouch, she discovered the source of the noise. A group of hunters was engaging a giant in the front garden. Tiny figures swarmed around it, one leaping in with a huge great sword to cleave at a tall leg as she watched. The giant was kicking about, trying to mash them into the ground with huge feet. It swung a tree-club with ease, swiping angrily at them.

Laurelin stepped to the side, inhaled, willed her shot to be true, visualized her arrow striking just _there_. She exhaled and released the bolt and watched in satisfaction as it unerringly pierced the giant's chest. Already injured and increasingly overwhelmed, the giant toppled over heavily, smashing into the ground, the hunters nearby leaping out of the way.

Having habitually drawn a second arrow to readiness, Laurelin stowed it back in the cheap quiver and strode forward, eager to meet a group of people who liked tangling with the really _big_ monsters. A lovely red-haired woman with three jagged stripes of green warpaint (did they look like claw marks?) slashing across her face greeted her.

"Well met sister, hunter. I am called Aela, this is my sister Ria, my brother Farkas." Aela studied Laurelin for a moment. "You handle yourself well. You could make for a decent shield sister."

The pale elf tipped her head into a nod of greeting. "I am called Laurelin Vo'Shai. Well met, Aela Huntress, Ria Huntress, Farkas Hunter." Ria nodded back and turned to examine the giant body behind them.

Farkas was a hugely broad man with long, dark hair; and glinting out of dark warpaint were silver-gray eyes, nearly as pale as her own. He wore much dented but well cleaned and cared for heavy armor. Blood dribbled slowly from his gauntlets, while he cleaned his sword with a scrap of leather and sheathed it behind his wide back. He was staring at Laurelin, taking in her lean shape, her stance, the way she flared her nostrils to catch scents on the wind.

'Well met, Laurelin Vo'Shai; you fought well, with honor and bravery." His voice was tremendously deep, scratchy, sounding more predatory growl than any she'd ever heard before. Her heart did a little back flip as he continued looking her over with a surprisingly warm smile on his unshaven face.

"So Farkas, do you three just slay giants for fun? Doesn't Whiterun still have guards for this sort of thing?"

Over by the dead behemoth, Aela explained "We are Companions, a noble group of hunters and fighters-"

"Noble my ass," grunted Farkas, "we fight because we _like_ to, and like getting _paid_ even more."

Aela grinned and shrugged, saying with the air of practiced recital "We are an order of warriors, we are brothers and sisters in Honor. Aaand we show up to solve problems if the coin is good enough."

"Ah, I see! Sounds fun, and hopefully profitable! I've heard of you; you're _the_ Companions right?" Laurelin replied, turning to go. "Maybe I'll see you again sometime." She grinned and winked at Farkas.

"You look strong!" He blurted out to the lithe creature who was slipping away. "You should come to Jorrvaskr; be a Companion." He immediately glanced down to his boots, embarrassed.

"Hmm, sounds intriguing. I have an urgent message for the Jarl, though. Maybe after I've taken care of a few things we could share some mead. Fair?" He nodded, another little smile creeping across his face.

* * *

Laurelin turned again and headed toward the gates of the city. Aela and Farkas watched her jog away, both pairs of eyes noticing the lean economy of movement. Graceful, gleaming, then gone. "C'mon Icebrain, let's go get a drink, Ria, move it." She noticed his hungry gaze still riveted to the spot where the elf had vanished.

He turned to Aela, "Do-"

"Not a chance big, guy. Twenty septims says she likes girly men. Elves. Whatever." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. There was something though. _That_ Bosmer didn't seem as snobbish as some mer. Perhaps not such a milk-drinker as the rest.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four -Whiterun**

Laurelin had to sweet-talk her way past the guards at the front gates; however it wasn't very tough. All she really had to do was smile prettily and announce she had news about the dragon at Helgen and the gates were swinging open before her. It had been a couple of years since her last business trip to Whiterun, but the jarl's palace was still in the same place. Laurelin grinned and said to no one in particular, "Always makes it easier to find home; it's rough when home wanders away." No one in particular paid her any mind.

People seemed to be going about their business-as-usual routine with single-minded purpose. Few even seemed to realize dragons had reappeared. The arguing, shopping, forging, all the random things humans did in their cities assaulted her senses as she trotted through town, up stair after stair. Laurelin didn't really mind at all, actually. Humans with their short lifespans interested her immensely. Everything was always so urgent. It fascinated her, the pace in which humans lived their lives.

The jarl, his steward, and a few guards listened gravely to her news. Arguments about what should be done flew back and forth for a while, and before she could protest, Laurelin had been pressed into retrieving a stone tablet from some mouldering tomb-back the way she had just come, no less! Reluctantly, she agreed to fetch the item for the somewhat pompous, demanding court mage Farengar. "Simplicity itself!" Laurelin groaned as she shoved her way out the tall front doors.

Leaving Dragonsreach, she bounded down the stairs so recently climbed. Ah well, nothing for it. Bryn would be able to hold the fort down for another week or so. She stopped at the Bannered Mare Inn and requested a room, shelling out ten of her last handful of Septims. After a little haggling, she traded her rabbits for some stew and a cut of venison. When the kindly innkeeper asked her if there was anything else she needed, Laure asked for a bath. She was given a large pail full of steaming water and a basin. It would have to do. Regretting not having suitable town clothes, nor the coin to purchase some, Laurelin pushed away the momentary urge to steal into a shop and lift something. She washed up as thoroughly as possible, then headed back out into town. There were some interesting new people to meet.

* * *

Jorrvaskr was a large mead hall, with the overturned hull of an ancient reaving ship forming the roof over its stone walls. Laurelin could feel the age of the weathered gray stones and smell the history as she pushed through the heavy, age-blackened wooden doors. Straight into a fist fight.

Off to the left of the entrance was a sitting area where shouting men and women yelled advice, placed wagers, egged on the two swinging wildly at each other. Laurelin recognized Aela, who stood near a middle-aged -looking man with thinning hair; and the cute little Ria, who watched, giggling near a huge fire pit in the center of the floor. Long tables flanked the fire on three sides, goblets and bowls of vegetables were strewn randomly around with joints of meat, breads, cheeses, savory and sweet pies. Tankards, flagons and bottles covered every other surface she could see in the flickering light. Chairs were scattered randomly about where they had been shoved once the fight began. No one seemed to be paying any attention to a lone Bosmer wandering into their abode, so Laurelin gave the place a good looking over.

It was as her prowling moved her into the shadows near a pillar that she finally noticed a pair of silver eyes-gleaming-taking in her every movement. Farkas. Watching her, perfectly still, blended into the darkness. Oh, he was good! She smiled, her nostrils flaring slightly as she caught the rich, musky scent of him, and edged around to stand nearby, looking him up and down. His piercing stare was slightly unnerving, but only because of the flush she felt rising up her throat. She smiled up-waaaay up-at him and asked, "Pour a drink for a thirsty lady?"

Farkas did just that, snatching a clean tankard from a side table, pouring in a brimming measure of golden mead. "Good to see you again; wasn't sure you'd really come by," he began. He pulled a chair out for her at one of the tables, carefully pushed it in, then sat down heavily himself. Laure nodded her thanks and sipped her drink. It had been too long since her last mug, and she relished it, sipping slowly.

"Good to be here," she replied, meaning it with every fiber of her being. It was a grand thing to be anywhere this side of Oblivion, after the last few days. "So, does this sort of thing happen often?" She nodded toward the fight, which was just now breaking up.

Farkas shrugged and replied, "Often enough. That one there-" gesturing toward a sour-faced woman with red warpaint stripes under her angry-eyed stare, "-that one has a real chip on her shoulder. She'll fight with anyone. About pretty much anything. Sometimes I make some pretty good coin off these little matches though."

"Ah, yes, I know the type. Always with something to prove. She's young, though; maybe she'll learn." Farkas seemed to agree but didn't have much to say. Instead he confessed he wasn't much of a talker and swallowed another tankard down. "You don't have to keep me entertained; I'm a big girl after all." His heavy brows shot up when she described herself as big, and a little snicker slipped out before he could help himself. "Okay, so maybe not big, as in the physical meaning, but I am old enough to string my own bow."

Farkas refilled their mugs and relaxed back, elbows over the back of the chair, watching, admiring Laurelin while she chatted with Aela, who had finally made her way over. This tiny elf's slightly slanted eyes were such a clear, light blue, widely spaced over high cheekbones. A finely curved mouth seemed to perpetually warm with smiles and easy grins. Her nose was long, the bridge wide, giving her a certain wolfish look. Expressive, oft-raised eyebrows arched gracefully over her shining eyes. Even her pointed, swept-back ears added to the appearance of a hunter at home in the wilds.

Laurelin coolly returned his looks as she sipped her second mug of mead. This one might be more dangerous than she thought. Definitely appealing, even though he was at least three days unshaven and painted like a nightmare. She appreciated that, though. Laure was very aware of the effect appearances had on people. Her own white paint curved down over her pale-on-pale eyes, over her cheekbones, and ended in sharp points that resembled claws or hooked daggers. The effect often made people double take when they caught a glimpse of her face. She had even been mistaken by unwary marks as a blind woman, and they had paid dearly for it. Farkas clearly did the same, fostering his fearsome image with care.

"How long have you been a Companion, Farkas?" she finally asked.  
"As long as I can remember. My brother Vilkas and I were raised here." The big man spoke easily enough when drawn out, but he was not prone to rambling on, which was nice. They finished their mead in companionable silence.

"So Aela mentioned a Kodlak. Who is he?"  
"Kodlak is our Harbinger. He...you should just go talk to him. I'll show you the way." Farkas pushed himself off his chair and, towering over Laurelin with a shy smile, offered her a hand up. Her fingers disappeared into his fist, but he was obviously afraid of breaking her, so gentle was he.

"Such a gentleman," she purred as she slipped her hand into his. Laurelin was pretty sure he blushed a bit, though it was hard to tell under all the fuzz and warpaint. He didn't seem the type to blush. Farkas followed her down the stairs and opened the door for her. This time Laure was more than sure as he sniffed the air appreciatively behind her. Definitely dangerous.

He led her down a stone hall, where worn crimson and gold carpets warmed the floors. Long banners, also crimson, with golden embroidered axes broke up the stark walls of the arched under vault. "Right up ahead, straight through that door. Well, goodnight, hope to see you again." He bowed a little and turned right into another short connecting hall. Laurelin watched him turn left into what looked to be living quarters, enjoying the very male scent of him. By the Gods, she missed Bryn! Needed to get back to Riften.

"_Soon enough, lass,_ " she told herself. Exhaling, she turned her attention to the indicated chamber. Low voices were engaged in a conversation that sounded fairly personal, so she hesitated a moment. She didn't want to interrupt, nor did she feel like eavesdropping. Instead she opted for stepping into the light spilling out of the room, and stood quietly, waiting to be noticed.

The two men before her didn't seem to notice her at all at first. Both wore ornate steel armor, finely tooled scrolling and wolf heads not disguising the scratches and dents in both suits. One man was old, his long hair grizzled, full beard covering his cheeks. He sat straight, with one leg out before him, as if he was easing the aches from a past wound.

The other was plainly Vilkas, the brother Farkas had mentioned. Twin brother if looks were correct. Or maybe the younger brother. This one was smaller in stature, but he seemed big on attitude. He sat slumped over his knees, holding his head in his hands while he and the older man-Kodlak-conversed. Laurelin tried not to listen while they talked, observing the room instead. There were tall shelves covered with the usual array of lamps, books, trinkets. Laurelin couldn't help but take note of several locked display cases, and she fought the urge to inspect them.

The two men finally took note of the newcomer at the door and gave her a scrutinizing gaze, which she returned. Kodlak seemed wearied, but still vital, his piercing gaze drilled into Laure as she stepped forward. A gentle smile creased his seamed face.

Vilkas, on the other hand, scowled and folded his arms over his chest as he surveyed the ragged figure before him. Laurelin introduced herself, "Greetings, I am Laurelin, Vo'Shai. I was told by Aela and Farkas I should speak to you, Kodlak about the Companions. I would like to know more about your little family here."

Kodlak obligingly told her some of the history of the Companions, a bit of which she already knew. He described to her what it meant to be a Companion, and the more she talked to him, the more she liked him-also by extension, his family. Kodlak's insistence that family and honor were paramount appealed to her own self.

They were very unlike her Thieves Guild family, but there were still similarities. Both had strong personal codes of honor and the love of coin. Families by choice rather than blood. The biggest difference Laure could see was how the two groups enriched themselves. Before she realized what she was saying, she was asking to join the Companions. Kodlak smiled and ushered her into the contemptuous care of Vilkas, who clearly didn't understand what the Harbinger saw in this disheveled, ghost-pale elf.

Laurelin jogged back upstairs with him, to test her arm, as it were. She ignored the curious stares of everyone in the main room as she followed him out the back doors. They crossed a comfortable-looking covered porch and dropped a few steps onto a cobbled practice yard. Vilkas, expecting her skills to be of little worth, sneered as he hefted a large shield. "Don't worry about hurting me. I can take it."

The petite elf scorned her own weapons, instead raising her fists. She lifted an eyebrow at him and sweetly said, "This seems to be the accepted way around here." Before he could retort, she had dropped to a low crouch and swung straight at his groin, feinting. Vilkas deftly blocked, and finally she saw a real smile on his face.

"I like your style!" His silver eyes narrowed in concentration as she rolled from side to side, jabbing with out pause, trying to get around his shield, making him swivel and pivot to keep the shield in front. Her fist crashed painfully into the heavily embossed surface—that would need healing later- but Laure refused to let that slow her. Still grinning, Vilkas looked over the top, another taunt already forming, but she had ducked and pivoted out of his sight, then popped up right next to his unprotected flank. Her unbruised left boxed him squarely on the chin. He reeled to the side, momentarily surprised, smile gone.

Curtly he told her they were finished, and he admitted maybe she wasn't such a pushover after all. Then he smirked again and sent her on an errand. As she marched up the steps to the Skyforge, with Vilkas's sword in hand, she thought, _Laurelin Vo'Shai: errand girl, retriever of artifacts, sometimes Master of the Thieves Guild. Nightingale_. What had she started? "Damn, my hand hurts!" she groused aloud.

* * *

The next few weeks were a whirlwind for Laurelin. Shortly -or rather, immediately -after returning from Bleak Falls Barrow with the stone tablet Farengar had required, another dragon attacked, this time right outside of Whiterun. Once again, Laurelin found herself sprinting from shadow to shadow over the tundra, this time toward the Western Watchtower. How she had been bullied into _this_ mess, she could never figure out completely. Except when a jarl said, "Jump"-or in this case, "Go fight a dragon"-you jumped. Hopefully not straight into said dragon's mouth.

She beat Irileth and the rest of the guards dispatched to investigate and defend the holding by several minutes, which gave her time to scout around. Flames and smoke licked sullenly into the sky, but the dragon itself was nowhere to be seen. Eyes scanning smoothly up, back, behind, poised and ready for her arrow to fly in an instant, Laure crept toward a concealing wall. She rested on her haunches, drank some water, waited for the rest of the guards.

Shortly afterward, the rest arrived and set about investigating and making their own plans. However, when the dragon reappeared, every plan was forgotten in the rather desperate fight to stay alive. Laurelin, not being as familiar with the niceties of hand-to-hand combat with a dragon, simply stalked about the ruin of the tower, firing shaft after feathered shaft deep into the bellowing, screeching monster—all while trying to avoid being eaten or roasted.

Laure, heart pounding with terror and excitement, ducked back behind a low wall as the beast circled overhead. Its scales were deflecting most of her shots, but a few had found tender joints, slowing the creature. Wiping sweat from trembling fingers, the little Bosmer took a deep, steadying breath. This was not going well. This would maybe go better if she had decent armor and weapons. Those were in Riften, though.

The dragon dove at the remaining guards, who were, like Laurelin, trying to whittle it down with arrows. Fire roiled out of the throat of the monster, charring the ground, the air, anyone in the way. Reeking smoke blew into Laure's eyes, making them water. Brushing away tears and saying a prayer, she popped her head over the side of the wall to get a better look. The dragon was hovering a few feet over the ground, its back to her, its tail lashing side to side as great leathery wings rose and fell with booming creaks. Laurelin quickly drew and fired two arrows, which sank into its neck. Satisfied, she ducked back down out of sight. A massive shudder rolled across the ruins, and Laure was nearly knocked off her feet as the beast finally settled on the ground. Loose stones tumbled away, and Laure cried out as an inferno spilled over her meager hiding place, scorching stones and her armor; the grass vaporized into tiny gray wisps of ash.

Laure lunged away as soon as the fire had abated, running zigzags across the smoking turf. She gasped in ragged breaths as the huge creature followed her around the tower ruins, snapping and clawing. Irileth and the guards continued worrying it from the sides and rear, but they were doing little real damage. Laure ran as swiftly as she had ever run before, pure terror goading her onward. The dragon heaved itself along after her, growling and threatening, right behind. The crash of it's progress rattled Laure to the bone. She risked a quick glimpse over her shoulder as she leaped up onto a broken wall.

A huge, bloodied head, all horns and fangs, loomed right over her. She ducked and tumbled to the side, dropping several feet to the stones beneath. Laurelin dropped her bow and drew her sword. A few feet away was a shield, battered and scorched, but still intact, so she went for it, rolling over it and sliding her hand through the straps. She came up facing the dragon as its head loomed over her scant concealment.

Blood fell in huge smoking drops all around her as the jaws opened wide, lowering toward the hunched figure beneath. Huge gusts of wind blew past Laurelin as it inspected her for a brief moment. An enormous tongue, long and black, snaked out, looking for all the world as though the dragon was going to taste her! Horrified, Laure swung her sword, slicing the tip of the forked tongue off, while she pivoted under its head, out of the way of the breath and teeth. Still spinning away, she stabbed up with her heavy blade, felt it sink satisfyingly into the huge throat right overhead. A head the size of a cart jerked up, pulling the sword out of her hand, making her tumble off balance .

"Fuck me!" she swore as she sprawled on the hard ground, wincing. She looked up and saw the dragon scratching at it's jaw trying to dislodge the sword with a clawed wing tip. Now weaponless, Laurelin scrabbled back, shield up in front while her thoughts raced. How did you kill a dragon when your weapon was out of hand? Laure retreated further, eyes darting about. The rest of the guards were closing in slowly and cautiously. After all, it was gravely wounded by now, but still very much alive and lethal. A point soon demonstrated by two guards being knocked off their feet by the spiked tail, another buffeted by the enormous wings flailing, trying to pull it skyward. Laurelin called up a simple spell and hurled several jagged shards of ice at the tossing, mangled head.

Finally, with a bellow, the dragon crashed down, head plowing a furrow into the stony ground, further burying the iron sword into its throat. Blood leaked out of its wounds, dribbling down massive flanks. The tail continued to twitch and thrash for a few moments, but eventually that stilled too. Had they done it? Laure shuddered and hunched down, waiting for it to spring back up, but the guards and Irileth had already sheathed their weapons and were closing in to investigate.

Brushing herself off, trying to still the shakes that seemed to be making her knees into jelly, Laurelin slowly edged up to the dragon's corpse, thinking to retrieve her sword. The stink coming off of it was overpowering; feeling somewhat nauseous, she hunkered down and slowed her frantic heart and breathing. What damn fool thing had made her go and do something as stupid as leap under a dragon? She brushed back scorched, sweat-dampened hair—several inches shorter now-and looked up at the vast bulk an arm's length away. She noticed tiny flames swirling and flickering along the hard scaled flanks.

A glowing orange-red aura was coalescing around her and the dead dragon, rising up and hissing softly. Flesh and scales bubbled away into glowing light. Laure backed away from this new devilry in alarm as it settled around her, sinking in. Unable to stop it or fight it off, the little elf cried out in shock as the weird energy soaked into her skin, flew in her mouth and nose, lifted her hair in glowing tendrils around her head. The power suddenly thrummed in her body, she felt it wrapping around her soul. Her head was thrown back, body arched nearly in two as the strange mist finished saturating her form, to slowly abate. Laurelin was caught in wordless, shrieking agony. _Oh gods, what was happening to her_? The anger and fire ripped through thought and intention, leaving her gasping on her knees, tiny sobs slipping out her twisted lips. The dragon seemed to be crying out in her head, raging to be freed once again.

Finally the terrible wrath seemed to subside and coil inside her, powerful, waiting. Awestruck, the surviving Whiterun guards surrounded her curiously. One was saying some nonsense about her absorbing the dragon's soul. Was that what it was? The same guard was telling the others about something called the Dragonborn, who could slay a dragon and absorb its soul, just like she had. Laure doubted very much she was some mythical Dragonborn; she wasn't even human!

The guard turned to her and suggested she shout. _What? Shout? Why would she yell_? Confused and tired, Laure tried to figure out what the man meant. She vaguely remembered the 'shout' being a mystical voice. Ulfric Stormcloak could use the Voice. She remembered that well enough. But for Ulfric to use the Voice he'd have to learn it somewhere. What was really happening here?

Laurelin slowly pushed herself to her feet, mind overcome with an overload of exhaustion, excitement, terror, pure exhilaration. The wheel of her thoughts kept spinning various memories and experiences around. An image welled up in her mind. It spun with the others, but finally seemed to clarify while the others danced around behind. In the Bleak Falls Barrow had been a strange wall, with symbols carved all around its semicircular base. One group of symbols had been glowing. Upon inspection, the symbols had seemed to imprint on her mind, to slumber waiting for something to awaken it. Now she felt that awakening happening. From deep in her belly was a tightness, her breath seemed to flow up from the earth through her toes, all the way through her head, to crackle and hiss out of her hair. Suddenly standing tall and straight, arms held slightly back, fists clenched as if in defiance, Laurelin threw her head back, unseeing yet staring at the cloudless sky. Welling furiously up from lungs that felt as though they would burst came a unstoppable urge.

"**FUS**!" A shock wave of energy punched out of her and set debris flying. _Oh wow! What next?_

* * *

Limping slowly back toward Dragonsreach, Laurelin tried to assimilate what had happened. When the sky suddenly shook over head and the sound of a thousand sibilant, thundering voices uttered at earsplitting volume, "_Dovahkiin!_" Laure thought another dragon was attacking. When nothing appeared to ambush her she continued on up into Whiterun.

Somewhere along the way she had picked up a whole treasure trove of questions she saw no hope of being able to answer anytime soon. Ignoring the revelry and excitement happening in town, Laure retreated to her cot in Jorrvaskr with out speaking to anyone. She pulled a tattered fur over her shoulders and fell into a fitful sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

She awoke with a start. Gentle hands were trying to lift her up off the cot. She resisted a few moments. She had been comfortable! The hands tried to lift her again, and she tried again to push them aside. The hands pulled away and a few voices permeated her mind fog.

"...Sleeping in armor, that's going to hurt in the morning."

"...Fought a dragon, let the poor thing be."

"She's gonna stink like a rotten slab of dog meat..."

"At least get her cleaned up, feed her maybe."

Laure cracked her eyes open. Glaring orange-red torchlight silhouetted several figures arrayed around her cot. She blinked and rubbed the film from her eyes, swallowing a yawn. Farkas, Vilkas, Njada and Ria hunched around her bed, trying to figure out what to do with her.

"I'm fine, really. You don't need to do anything; I was simply extraordinarily tired. I ran all the way to Bleak Falls and back. Didn't get a cha-hance-" This time the yawn was unstoppable, but she covered it with both her long hands. "Hmm sorry. Didn't get a chance to even collect my thoughts before I was being shoved out the door to fight a dragon. Then after we slayed it, something remarkable happened." Laure sat up and looked down at her dented, blackened, blood-stained armor and grimaced. "Ugh. You were right, I need a bath!" Laure stared down bleakly at her similarly blood-stained hands for a moment while they chattered.

"So about the dragon?" asked Ria.

"Yeah, why didn't you come tell us?"

"Ah, a dragon must have been a worthy foe!"

"Big deal! She kills a dragon and now we're all supposed to kiss her ass?"

"Could we please talk about it maybe a little later? After I've cleaned up and eaten something. I'm starving, actually." They all moved off, Farkas staying behind a moment to give her a hand up and an encouraging smile.

* * *

Bounding up the stairs an hour later, washed, hair combed, dressed in simple tunic and doeskin trousers, Laurelin felt immensely better. Now to remedy the rest of her present ailments. She saw everyone sitting around the tables, eating, talking about all the random things they discussed on a daily basis; Laure realized she would battle any and every dragon who sought to harm them. _Even Njada_.

Stepping over to an empty chair at the end, she slid into place and swooped up an enormous chunk of salmon and tore it apart with her fingers. Vilkas, to one side of her, poured a tankard of mead and passed it over, which she gratefully accepted. She nodded around and began slicing some cheese off a big wheel in front of her. Chewing her salmon, she looked over to where the others were on the other corner facing her, not talking anymore. "Okay, I get it, just give me a few moments to wolf some food down so I don't fall out of my chair."

"By all means, 'wolf' it down. We can wait a few more minutes I'm sure," Vilkas replied over his tankard. The others snickered quietly at his remark. His eyes where gazing into the huge fire, gleaming in anticipation of her story. While she ate, he talked lightly, the first time she'd ever had him address her in a fashion that wasn't plain rude.

"I think by now I've killed one of every living thing in Skyrim. But a dragon! That would be a glorious fight!" He sat back, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. He chatted amiably about the tactics he thought would be effective, weapons to use, filling in the silence while the elf took the edge off her hunger.

Laure hurriedly washed down her salmon and cheese before grinning around. "Well, where should I start?"

"Why don't you start with why you didn't tell us you were going to fight a dragon? As Companions, we consider it our duty and honor to fight any foe in Whiteruns defense!" Vilkas gave Laure a sidelong glance that she read easily enough. Frustration and eagerness.

"I apologize for not letting you in on the action. I was rather tired and not thinking clearly. I just ran out of the city and down to the watchtower to meet Irileth. It all happened so quickly."

"So why were you sent?"

"I wouldn't have been, I think. I was just there when the watchtower guard arrived with the news. The jarl didn't want to send Farengar, but he needed an extra person to bring any information back. Actually I still need to go up there and let them know what few things I discovered."

Ria, eyes wide and shining with excitement asked brightly, "So how did you kill it?"

Laure saw the hunger in every eye around her, so she pulled in a deep breath and began. Laure had a fine, well-pitched voice, and she easily recounted the whole thing. She didn't fail to include her terror, losing her weapon, the fear of the fire, the feeling of her armor heating up, the smell of scorched metal, blackened flesh. Her face revealed each emotion as she related the words, expressive hands darting about to emphasize a point. Her tale swept them up and carried them to the battlefield, where they could easily imagine every vivid detail. When she came to the bit about absorbing the dragon's soul, they all jumped from their seats.

"What!" They all exclaimed, mouths gaping in astonishment.

"That was my thought precisely. I'll tell you, it was awful; I didn't know what was happening. I was sure I was being eaten by the dragon after all. I didn't think the so called Dragonborn could be anything but Nords..."

"The Graybeards would be able to give you more information. They know all about the Way of the Voice," Vilkas put in. "You should think about visiting them—after you speak to Jarl Balgruuf, that is." He tipped his tankard her way and moved off to sit by himself in the shadows.

Laure watched him leave with a puzzled frown on her face. One moment he was engaging and perfectly courteous, and the next he was chillier than a glacier. She didn't know enough about him to be able to formulate any real idea of what caused his shifts in mood. She could only pin down a certain restlessness and vague dissatisfaction with his role in life. Why, though, she wasn't sure. He was obviously a proud, high-ranking member of the Companions. He was literate, a well-read scholar on many subjects. He enjoyed teaching the 'whelps' out in the practice yard. He was just as good looking as his brother—minus a bit of Farkas's easy going charm, and about four stone in pure muscle—and had impeccable manners. When he wasn't pissed or being snide.

Vignar caught the expression hovering on her face, her chin resting idly on the rim of her mug. He reached out and squeezed her hand. "Don't worry about him. He'll warm up to you; he just gets a bit tetchy from time to time. Pay it no mind, and don't take his comments too personally."

Laurelin chuckled a moment. "I'm not that worried; he's just one of those hard-to-reach people." She set her tankard down and pushed out of her seat. "Don't worry about me; you know I can take care of myself. "

"You can at that, no lies there!"

"Well, I have to see the jarl, I guess. Raise a mug for me if I don't return?"

"Aye, but two when you do return, draped in the presents of a grateful jarl."

Laurelin made her way up to Dragonsreach and gave the jarl her news. He was very pleased with her concise relating of the facts, and by her actions.

"In return for your services, I would like to give you this axe from my armory." Balgruuf the Greater proffered an iron battleaxe with a subtle glow emanating from it. "Maybe you will put it to good use on your way up the Throat of the World."

"Pardon?" Laure queried. Why would she be climbing the vast mountain looming over Skyrim?

"You'll be going up to convene with the Greybeards, correct? Irileth had an interesting tale to tell about you absorbing the dragon's soul." His shaggy eyebrows rose slightly. "You did hear them summon you yesterday?"

"If you're speaking of the thundering voice speaking from the sky in a strange language, I did hear them. I just didn't know what it meant."

"Ah, well they summoned you, make no mistake. It is a great honor to be allowed into their monastery. They should be able to give you more answers than any of us can." His hand idly gestured to the guards, Irileth, and Proventus Avenicci the steward.

"We also have a small house that is available for purchase here in town. Should you want to purchase it, speak to Proventus here, and he can make all the arrangements."

"A house. Intriguing notion. I am however short on funds at the moment."

"It will still be here, I imagine, when you return. Perhaps I should make you a Thane of my court, give you some incentive to return. We can always use another strong blade here in Whiterun."

Laurelin bowed deeply and turned away, thoughtful. _Do I really want to have another house? Do I want to live here?_ Unsure, Laurelin decided to not rush into anything further here in Whiterun; she had already committed herself to the Companions without putting in any real thought. It had been a purely instinctive move, not one she could rationalize away. Being a thane would have some advantages, though; this she knew from her time in Riften. Riften was as much her home these days as any place. Bryn was there waiting for her. She missed him badly, knew he would be missing her. It had been months. Why was she waiting around here when he was so close?

Laurelin went to the marketplace in the Plains District, sold a few odds and ends she had scrounged in the last few days, and then made her way to the Skyforge, where she sold a number of weapons and pieces of armor. She felt enormously better with a large pouch of gold tucked into her belt. Another pouch in her inner pockets had a variety of gems and looted jewelry, a tidy sum that would make her journey back to Riften that much more bearable.

She skipped down the steps and crossed to the back porch of Jorrvaskr, where Skjor and Aela sat having an early supper together. Aela smiled and shoved a chair nearby out with a booted foot. Laure dropped down and smiled. "Well, I have made it back out of the jarl's palace, and no new missions from him. Huzzah!"

Skjor put down the apple he was coring and gestured to her with his knife. "We had a visitor while you were up there. Seems a scholar has located another fragment of Wuuthrad in a cairn nearby. Kodlak and I think you can handle this, so we'd like you to go get it as a bit of a final test of your worthiness to be a Companion." He noticed the irritated expression on the elf's face and asked, "Is there a problem?"

"Why didn't this scholar bring it with him if he located it already. Smells like a trap."

"The man who told us found someone else who had seen it. We want you to go get it from whoever has it now. You still need to prove yourself, whelp, trap or no." His tone clearly left no room for argument, so she just nodded and picked up an egg, cracking it on the table top, deft fingers peeling the shell away. "Good. Farkas will be your shield brother on this mission. Don't get him killed doing anything stupid."

Laure nodded again and ate the egg while she went to locate Farkas. The big, scruffy man was happy to be going, offering to help her get her gear tidied up. She did need to fix her armor situation and get a new blade. What she had left of her armor was burned, the leather straps crackling and dry. Laurelin saw herself spending much time at the Skyforge in the future if the Circle kept sending her out to odd jobs like this. Wuuthrad, the legendary blade of Ysgramor himself. A little piece of it waited for her in Dustman's Cairn.

* * *

Farkas and Laurelin left Whiterun the next morning, jogging over the tundra, avoiding the giant camp on the way. Farkas seemed at home in the wilds, his eyes alert, never taking their safety for granted. When they finally reached Dustman's Cairn, the sun was approaching its zenith. The two rested for a few minutes, drinking water, having a bite to eat.

Farkas watched Laure worry a bite of jerky off with her sharp teeth. He had spent time training with her this week, knew she was deadly with her dual blades. She must be a proficient warrior to have defeated a dragon. She was just so _little_. He wanted to pick her up and find out what she felt like in his arms, if she was really as fragile as she looked.

Laurelin must have caught some of the drift of his thoughts by the expression on his face. She swallowed her jerky and announced, "Don't worry, remember? Big girl-I string my own bow. I'll try not to get you or myself killed."

He chuckled deep in his chest. "I'm not worried. You'll do great I'm sure. I just can't do this for you. I'm here as backup and an observer."

"Is there anything special in here I need to know about?"

"Don't think so. Some draugr, most likely. Maybe some bandits or smaller creatures; skeevers like places like this." He stood up and stretched, his back and neck making a clatter of pops and creaks. "Let's get going."

* * *

Farkas and Laurelin emerged from the cairn well after midnight. They were both smiling and thoroughly laden down with loot. Laure had also found another one of those strange walls with glowing runes. As it turned out, Farkas wasn't the only one with a few surprises up a sleeve. Climbing to the top of the wall around the cairn, they took a moment to breathe the clean, crisp air. Masser and Secunda were far from full, but they were still bright enough to paint the landscape in muted tones of silver. Farkas had his head tilted up to the sky, eyes seeming to reflect the light. Laure admired his profile with a sidelong glance. In the moonlight she searched for a visible clue to the secret he had shared with her tonight. The only thing she could put a finger on was the way he constantly seemed to flare his nostrils and sniff the air for scents, information.

Without turning his head, Farkas swiveled his bright eyes her way. A slight, knowing smirk twitched at the corner of his lips. He began divesting his pockets of gems and jewelry, which went into a worn leather pouch. The smile remained while he rolled a brilliant blue sapphire between his fingers.

"Well, that was a revelation; no doubt about it, Farkas. Are you sorry you showed me?"

"Naw. You were going to find out anyway. Just happened a little sooner than the others might have cared for." He dropped the sapphire into his pouch and pulled the strings, cinching it shut.

"So what now? I, for one, am famished. Do we have time to hunt for fresh game, or should we head back?"

"I say we hunt. I'm pretty hungry myself." His eyes finally met hers, and Laure couldn't help but noticed he seemed to be smoldering with some desire or another. Two pairs of pale eyes stared unflinching into each other. Abruptly, Farkas's gaze swung away, his nostrils flaring wide. "Buck, two does. Not far that way." He pointed up the hill behind them into the evergreen-cloaked foothills. Rising, they both looked at the pile of swords they had left the cairn with. Nothing for it, they would have to come back. Carrying that mess would alert game for miles of the presence of the two hunters.

Laure shrugged out of the straps of her pack and strung her bow. "You want to hunt with me, big guy?"

"Sure, why not? You're teeny tiny. Probably can't eat all my kill..."

She swiped playfully at him with her bow, but he leaped back out of range. "If you don't scare my prey with your heavy footed crashing-you call that sneaking?" She picked up her quiver and melted into the bushes, vanishing completely from sight and sound but not scent. Farkas shook his head and followed her with his nose. The smell of pine, spices, and something sweet drew him on as much as the thought of fresh meat to fill his belly.

They ate the heart of the buck while it was still hot. Fingers slippery with blood, they sliced it up and had a mock toast, then fed their empty bellies. Farkas didn't seem to mind that Laure liked her meat raw and bloody. "Tastes better that way," he commented on her preference to not cook it. When they finished with the heart, the two of them swiftly butchered the rest, eating small pieces while rolling the hide up around several choice cuts, some sinew and antler that Laurelin wanted. They left the rest for the scavengers.

Laure wanted to ask every question flying wildly in her head at once. She settled instead for simply asking, "What is it like?" She continued hiking up the gentle slope they were on, Farkas a step behind and to the left. He grunted and hoisted his over-laden pack a little further up his wide shoulders. Laure, even though she wasn't looking, could almost hear the shrug.

"It's, powerful. I feel invincible when I'm in my beast form. I can smell the terror of my prey, taste their breath. Every heartbeat is a loud plea for me to silence it. The rage can take me away from everything personal to a place where only me and blood matter. To give in to the blood is to surrender to hunger, a terrible appetite. Even when I'm not in wolf skin, I can still smell..." His eyes slid closed for a brief moment. Laure had drifted to a stop in front of him, her blue eyes glittering with interest as she faced him. She realized her scent was blowing straight into his nose. His eyes popped open, pupils dilated, a look of raw hunger curling his mouth up suggestively. "I can still smell every drop of sweat on your brow, the last drop of mead on your lips, hear your heart speeding up right now..." He shook his head as if to wipe away dark thoughts. "It's hunger. Pure and simple."

* * *

Farkas and Laure made it back to Whiterun a little after sunrise. They had walked slowly, Laurelin taking the sedate pace as an opportunity to harvest a few potion ingredients. Farkas was carrying the biggest portion of their spoils from Dustman's, but he didn't complain at all. They had bundled and wrapped everything up as tightly as possible, so it was easier to carry, at least.

Vilkas stood at the top of the stairs leading up to Jorrvaskr, a slight smile on his face. Laure smiled back, uncertain what was about to happen. Farkas and Vilkas led her around back, where the rest of the Companions were gathered in the practice yard. Even Kodlak was present, and he gestured for her to step forward. She and Farkas slid out of their heavy packs and moved into place. Before she knew it, the rest were testifying to the honor and bravery she showed, swearing to stand and fight at her back. Laurelin was moved by their heartfelt decrees of loyalty and companionship; Farkas was particularly eloquent with his spoken part, although she suspected it was rehearsed for just these occasions.

Laure and Vilkas shook hands afterward, and he pulled her into a warm embrace. "Well done sister. May you continue to bring honor to yourself, and to the Companions."

"Thank you brother, I'll try not to embarrass you-whoooo!" She was cut short as Farkas caught her up from behind and spun her around a moment in his arms, then set her back on her feet. He then set a massive hand on his brother's shoulder, the other curled around Laurelin's waist, led them inside, where a celebration was picking up in volume.

"Now for the rest of your initiation. Getting drunk at a completely unreasonable time of day. C'mon, it'll be good for you! Plus it's tradition, and you never break with traditions, at least not this one."


	6. Chapter 6

This chapter has SMUT! If you don't like it, don't read it!

**Chapter Six- Reunion**

_Bryn, it pains me, but I must begin this letter with an apology. I am so very sorry! Please forgive me? I realize I promised you a swift return to Riften. I take full responsibility for not being able to uphold my word. I know you care little for the trials of leading our family, and I am deeply sorry to not be there to ease that burden for you. Unfortunately I have been quite delayed; events have been...well, tumultuous at best. I hope to explain more when I am finally back with all of you. You most of all, dearest one!_

Walk with Shadows,  
Laurelin Vo'Shai

Dusk was settling softly over Riften when Laurelin walked around the last corner. She picked up her ambling pace when she finally spied its decrepit looking walls. Deciding to visit Karliah later, Laure strode up to the gates of the town, her perfectly fitted wolf armor creaking slightly as she went.

"Hail Companion!" The guards saluted as she passed.

_Damnation, it feels nice to proudly wear my kit and not have to worry about bribing the bleeding thugs who watch the gates!_ she thought. The last month and a half had been more than interesting. Laure had learned some new things about herself and had been reminded of things she had put away for a long time. Saluting back, she pushed through the familiar gates. Going through them was a symbolic gesture more than a necessity. Had she wanted, Laure could have entered Riften through Honeyside.

Entered through Honeyside and instantly be plagued by questions from her well meaning but nosy housecarl, Iona. No, that wasn't what Laurelin wanted to deal with right now. What she really wanted right now had a wicked smile, long red hair, and fingers more nimble than any she'd ever encountered. Laure moved confidently down the timber walkways, her heavy armor causing her steps to ring out in an unaccustomed manner. Oh well, nothing to be done for it. Her Guild and Nightingale armor were safe in Honeyside, and she wasn't stopping for anything this side of a daedric prince. Old stomping grounds always made her smile, though, and it was nice to hear familiar voices and sounds. She turned in to the courtyard in front of the Temple of Mara and then slid back into the graveyard when she knew the coast was clear.

Soon, she was watching the floor of the mausoleum slide back, revealing the worn steps underneath. She tugged the chain to close the passage again, then hoisted the cap leading down into the cistern. Laure dropped lightly to the ladder, resealed the shaft down thinking, _So very tedious sometimes, especially when you're in a hurry!_ She took advantage of her heavy, steel gloves and rail-slid quickly down the splintery wooden ladder. Dropping into a crouch, Laure turned to survey her domain.

The high, vaulted ceiling was brightly lit; banners hung proudly down. Nocturnal's shrine loomed in the background. Nearby a steady _thucck thucck thucck_ told her told her one of the boys was at the bulls-eye target, honing, perfecting his skill with bow and arrow. Easing out of her crouch, the Master of the Thieves Guild slid forward out of the shadows and hailed Rune, who was loitering nearby.

Rune looked up from the letter he was reading. It had the look of being much read, folded, crumpled and re-read. His good-natured voice and face hid a clever thief, and Laure knew what it meant to underestimate this one. Still, they were close friends. At one point she had even tried to track down any further information about his origins, only to come to a dead end. It made her sad to think she would probably never be able to help him solve that one question he had. It was such a simple thing too, the desire to know who a person was, where he or she came from.

"My sister in crime! Good to see you again, boss." They hugged warmly, an action of deepest trust to those in their business. Laure rested her hands on her hips and rose up on tip toes to give him a peck on the cheek.

"How are things?" she asked quickly, trying not to be rude, but where in Oblivion was he?

Rune grinned knowingly."You should ask him yourself," he quipped, nodding behind her where Brynjolf had just emerged from the practice room. Every eye was fixed on Laurelin as she leaped in a most undignified manner into his arms. Her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, and she buried her face in his hair and inhaled the smell of him.

Bryn, slightly staggered, managed to steady himself and wrapped his hands around the heavy steel cuirass of her armor. "Oof!" he said at first, then, "Of course I forgive ya' lass. It's part of the deal. You can be as eccentric and neglectfully absent as ya' like. Long as the coin still flows." He hitched her up higher, bringing her face level with his, coincidentally allowing his fingers to trace the inside of her thighs where there wasn't so much steel. Except for that tiny dagger she liked to hide.

Laurelin finally sat back a bit on the seat his forearms made and looked him in the eye. Lips hovering excruciatingly close, she whispered, "Thank you." She leaned closer, nibbled the corner of his mouth playfully, drawing his lower lip into her mouth, where she let her tongue slide along the inside, drawing a low moan from the back of his throat. She could feel his carefully trimmed whiskers scratching over her chin as she moved her lips tantalizingly over his scarred cheek to his ear. Her tongue curled around his earlobe, teeth nipping, while she felt his hands tighten on her thighs, a little shudder rippling through his body.

Finally, eyes wide and sparkling, Laurelin pulled her face away from Brynjolf's neck. Echoing shouts and whoops, clapping and stomping filled the air as every thief present let their approval be known. "Don't you hooligans have some pockets to pick? Get lost, I have important matters to discuss with my good deputy here."

"Shall I go reserve a private booth in the Flagon for you two?"

"Is that what we' calling it now? Hey Sapphire, I have a few things I'd like to 'discuss' with you!"

"Shut it before I do it for you-permanently."

"See you in a fortnight Bryn?"

"About time you got back-he's getting cranky!"

Brynjolf put on and injured expression. "Ah, the respect we get from this lot, eh lass? You see what I have to endure? Rabble, the whole lot of them." He raised his voice and thundered, "Back to it. You heard the boss!"

All of them promised to get right back to pushing over old ladies and robbing the blind, as soon as the show was over. Bryn glanced to Laurelin, his sea-green eyes met hers, pale shiny blue, and shrugged.

Putting on her best frown, Laurelin turned around, still clasped in Brynjolf's strong arms, and began issuing orders as if she had never left. The lads and lass willingly set about filling her demands, goading each other on in a friendly competition. Vipir the Fleet dashed upstairs to deliver an order for a nice meal from the Bee and Barb. Rune headed over to Honeyside to inform nosy housecarl that she had three free nights' stay in the finest room in the Bee. Still more raced to make a "picnic" basket for Laure and Bryn to share.

Brynjolf finally had to set Laure back on her feet, which she reluctantly settled onto. Steel armor was, after all, quite heavy. "Take that silly hood off; you don't need it down here anyway." Standing on her toes she pushed his hood off and ran her long fingers through his dark-red locks, scratching her nails along his scalp. "Much better."

Taking her hand, Bryn led her to his narrow bed, swiveled her around, pulled her close to his chest, fingers tightly clasped. Laure felt her heart race as he looked down at her with a suggestive smirk on his face.

Her brow lifted in playful shock, "Why Brynjolf, there are so many of the children still up!"

He gave her behind a smack and turned her about, pulling her hips up against his body, his arms curling around under her breasts, lips hovering right at the tip of her pointed ear. "Actually I was planning on returning a few items I liberated from your house, as it looks like you've had to improvise. Have to say, the steel looks nice enough-" one hand slid up and fondled a hard molded breast "-but it's noisy. Not to mention _pointy_".

"Let's just say it hasn't been so much a matter of improvisation as utter, dire necessity."

"I see. Well, I hope to hear more of the tale soon." His musical voice rumbled in her ear, hot breath making her whole body tingle. She reached her hand up and drew his head down for another lingering kiss.

"All ready, boss!" chirped Rune, back from his errand, grinning broadly. Laure and Bryn eyed each other. Always an interruption waiting to spring as soon as they got together.

The '"picnic basket'" was a chest. Master locked by the looks of it. Grinning thieves hoisted it and shot out of the cistern to make a delivery. Laure watched them go with an affectionate smile. She had requested a snack, and her lads had gotten a bit carried away as usual. She realized they loved messing with her and Bryn as much as possible. Now who knew where her snack would be?

A moment later, Laure and Bryn were crouched in front of his locker, he pushing back the lid, she looking eagerly inside. Various items of clothing, trinkets, little purses filled one side, stacked and neatly arrayed. On the other side was a bundle wrapped in fine, black cloth. Laurelin opened it up and lowered her hand, caressing the armor within.

Brynjolf leaned over and pressed a kiss to her throat. "You may be wearing wolf skin now, but never forget you are a Nightingale. This life..."

"And the next. I know love. As if I could forget! Thank you. But I thought I left this at Honeyside!"

"You did. I wanted to keep it safe. I knew you'd come back to me for that, if nothing else."

Laurelin chuckled. "I think it's the other way around. While it's nice to have this again, I would much rather have _you_ on me." She began shrugging and struggling out of her wolf armor with a little hindered assistance from the big, gingery rogue she adored and into her Nightingale armor. Bryn was slipping in to his a few moments later, pulling fingerless gloves tight over his forearms. "Shall we sneak out and find our picnic basket?" she teased.

"Yes the picnic basket. That too." His brilliant green eyes disappeared, to be replaced by two winking pinpoints of light gleaming out of the shadows as he pulled his hood up. Laurelin carefully stowed her wolf armor in Bryn's trunk and closed it firmly.

"Walk with the Shadows?" she queried, pulling on her mask and hood. He nodded once, and before the eyes of the thieves watching, they vanished completely. Well not completely, the combined laughter and mirth of the two Nightingales still echoed round and round.

* * *

Finding the picnic chest proved a challenge. Laurelin and Brynjolf were both somewhat rusty; she having spent the last month and a half charging boldly into battle with her shield sisters and brothers, Bryn having been cooped up inside, running the internal matters of the Guild for the last four months. Still, silent and unseen, they followed the hastily assembled clues. After an hour or more of searching about, avoiding the guards and townsfolk, the duo tracked it down. As it turned out, the chest had been secreted into Haelga's bunkhouse, across the way from Laure's house Honeyside.

The chest was sitting in plain sight, an elaborate, jeweled statue of Dibella resting on the lid, mocking the two Nightingales as they quietly hoisted it back onto the table it normally rested on.

"Haelga really loves that thing, doesn't she?" muttered Laure as she rearranged the flowers around its base.

"She loves her work, to be sure. She serves her goddess with devotion and much _pleasure_." He breathed in her ear. Though she couldn't see his face, she could hear the smile in his voice.

Together, Laure and Bryn hoisted the chest, waiting at the front door until the way was clear. Then a few hurried steps-they really _didn't_ want to take the time to explain to disbelieving guards that this was all an elaborate prank-and they slid through the front door of Honeyside with relieved exhalations. They set the chest down, looked at each other—twin shadows in fancy pajamas trying to get away with goods they had a legitimate claim to—and burst out laughing. Bryn sank down on the chest to shake and chuckle. Laure collapsed comfortably onto his lap, arms automatically entwined as they wound down.

"Ah, that was fun, lass!" He slid his hood and mask off, revealing his grinning face. Laure cupped his jaw with her long fingers, enjoying his warmth, the glimmer of his eyes in the candle and firelight. Bryn gently tugged her hood off and stared into her eyes while she drank in the sight of him.

"We've tried fooling around in this getup before, darling. You need to take the mask off to kiss me properly," Laure announced, her eyebrows arched high over her pale lashes. He made a game of revealing tiny amounts of her face and kissing each part as it was shown with soft, feathery kisses, raising gooseflesh up her back and arms. When her lips finally appeared, Bryn nibbled her chin, flickered his tongue out to lick the corner of her trembling mouth, ghosted his lips over her for a moment, rubbing her nose with his. Laure bit her lip hungrily, trying to push their lips together, but Bryn was still teasing, enjoying the feeling of her quivering in his arms. Finally.

Laure resorted to pulling his head to hers, her fingers twined deeply into his silky hair. Their lips met and melded, eyes closed in languorous, heady delight. Hers parted, and her tongue furtively slid out to lick his full lower lip, drew it in between her teeth and suckled lightly. Her fingers roamed over his neck, traced his ear with light fingers as he pressed his face into her caress.

His arms swept more tightly around her as he tangled tongues with the slender Bosmer he had missed so much. He had begun to worry she might not return, but here she was, in the flesh. In his lap—which was an excellent start. Absence was dismissed, enthralled with each other, they drank in each others presence, the sight, feel, taste and smell of the other.

Laure eventually came out of her daze of luscious sensation, noticing her own smell—damp and sweaty under armor padding being the most dominant. Wrinkling her nose, she sat back a bit, asking, "Do you mind if I wash up, I'm one stinky, clammy mer."

Bryn squeezed her tighter. "Do you have to leave my lap to do so? If you do, I object very much. No, stay I like you stinky-sticky...woman, get back here!" Laure regretfully scrambled off his lap with a heartfelt sigh. On the way to the kettle, she paused and sniffed at a few of the covered platters on the table, then moved on. She poured water from one of several full buckets into the kettle hanging near the thankfully blazing fire, and heaved it into place, then turned to face Bryn with a questioning look.

Bryn leaned back on the chest and kicked it with his heel. "Shall we see what loot the lads arranged for us?"

Laure wanted to tear his armor off and take him to bed-now-more than any chest of loot. The way he sat there smirking at her was maddening. "I believe you will need to see to the chest," she admitted, dropping her hood on the back of a chair. "I don't have any lockpicks handy."

"Liar, you always keep some in your braid."

"Don't have the braid any more lover. Didn't you notice my haircut?" Black, fingerless gloves fell to the seat of the chair.

"I thought something was different. At first I just thought you were shrinking. Now I see. The hair. Yes its shorter, not you."

"You're awful." He was always making short jokes. Laurelin swept up two goblets and filled them with a crisp, red wine she favored and sauntered over to offer a goblet down to him.

"You're stunning regardless." The rims clinked musically together.

"You're a habitual liar and thief." The silver goblets glinted as they raised a toast.

"To the Nightingales, to Nocturnal, to fat purses and lazy nobles!" As one, they drank to good fortune and unlocked windows. Laurelin, still standing in front of Bryn lifted her right foot up and slid it onto the chest between his knees.

"Give a lady a hand?" With one hand still holding his wine, the other swiftly tugged every buckle and strap free. Laure replaced her right with the left foot, and in a twinkling those were undone as well. She turned and clomped over to the chair by the fire and sank onto it, sipping her wine. Setting the half-empty vessel down, she set about slowly removing her boots. Her armor followed, and while Laurelin had her doubts about the appeal of watching a skinny elf shimmy out of damp padding, she was enjoying herself. She was reassured by the realization that Bryn seemed to be fairly melting over there on the chest.

Finally nude, she snagged up a thick cloth, grabbed the steaming kettle and poured it into a huge basin on the floor. Cold water from the buckets brought the water level up and temperature down enough for Laure to step in and hunch down in the tiny bath. As she sponged herself clean, Bryn's admiring gaze never left her supple form.

"What's under the lids?" she queried. He popped up and lifted the covers, somewhat curious himself.

"Looks like roast pheasant, leeks, venison, potatoes, and some sort of stew. Bread, cheese, butter, sweets." He looked up at her a mock servile expression on his face. "Will that be satisfactory, m'lady?"

"Oh yes, indeed that will be most satisfactory." Bryn began serving up the food while Laure strode, white-blonde hair dripping, to the wardrobe in her bedchamber. A simple linen dress slithered over her bare shoulders, and when her head poked out the top, Brynjolf was frozen at the doorway, paused in mid stride, two full plates in one hand, the wine bottle under his arm, his own glass in the free hand.

"Mercy, woman! You are the best damn thief."

"Oh?" She tugged the dress down over her hips, looking up at him through her lowered lashes.

"You steal my breath every time."

"Just your breath, dearest one?" One of her expressive eyebrows arched up in amusement.

"Amongst other things, you lovely tease!"

"So do I have to pickpocket that plate from you?"

Reclining easily on her bed, they fed each other, talked over wine, completely ignoring the topic of business. When their bellies were happily full and the plates had been cleared, Bryn produced a handful of lockpicks.

Laure took a turn at the lock first. While she concentrated, Bryn slid up behind and let his tongue dart out to run along the tip of her sensitive ear. The pick she was using broke with a crack and a curse from Laure. "Fuck me sideways!" She turned and tried to shove him out of the way, but he tumbled out of reach, waving the picks.

"Now, now, you enchantingly eloquent creature, I think your penalty for breaking one of my precious few picks should be the removal of one item of clothing!"

"I'm only wearing one!" She paused, eyes narrowed. "Besides, I know you have more hidden about."

"Ah 'tis a shame, to be sure. It's a steep learning curve hereabouts."

"I know what kind of curves you're interested in!"

"I cannot lie."

"Ha! Hand me another pick." Laure made a grab for them, but he pushed her deftly aside and moved in front of the chest himself. She let him get comfortable and then slipped up in front of Bryn on the far side of the chest. His brow was furrowed as he tried to ignore the peripheral image of her sliding the gown slowly up her thighs. Her triumphant laugh as his pick snapped too pealed out like a bell. The dress dropped back to her ankles, and she pounced him, trying to winkle the tools out of his hands.

So it went. When the lock finally snicked open they were disheveled, flushed, gasping. Inside was a virtual trove of tiny colored vials of oils, incenses, candles, sweet confections, a red bottle labeled 'Falmer Blood Elixir', and one amulet of Mara, which twinkled up at the two thieves.

Bryn, a devilish grin on his face reached for the amulet; but lightning quick, Laurelin snatched it up, saying "Out of the question! You put this thing on and there will be riots across all of Tamriel!" It dangled from her forefinger, while she taunted, "As a Bosmer I can wear this without the same meaning; it's simply a pretty that gives me better healing spells, no?" She slipped it over head and simpered expectantly.

Bryn seized her hand in his and exclaimed, "An amulet of Mara! You're not married? I'm surprised one such as yourself should not have a big, strong, manly man to take care of you!"

Laure snickered and gently pushed him back onto the cushions, pressing hot kisses to his throat. "I've missed you and your honeyed words!" She turned about and began undoing the straps of his boots, both sets of buckles seeming to magically spring open under her swift fingers. She tugged the black leather off, dropping them on the floor at the foot of the bed. His armor came off as swiftly as the boots, both of them making the numerous straps, buckles, and pieces seem to fall open and off.

Finally he was naked, pale skin deeply shadowed in the firelight. Laurelin loved his freckles. She had spent hours before, fingers tracing the constellations of spots on his alabaster-white skin with her fingertips, sometimes with her tongue. The freckles told a wonderful tale of days spent sunbathing by the lake in his youth. The gold red hair of his chest curled and trailed deliciously down into a narrow tapered line across his hard-muscled abdomen. Laure trailed her fingers through it in a familiar gesture while she straddled his hips. Removing her dress in one smooth movement, she was as bare as he but for the amulet of Mara, a joke, a promise, winking between her shapely breasts.

Leaning forward, she pressed lightly against him, breasts pressed against his chest, enjoying the rich heat of their two bodies mingling, the feel of his hair scratching softly against her skin. Her kisses at first were gentle, but as she raised her head higher up his throat, they became firmer, more demanding. Finally allowing months of pent up energy to flow free, she ardently kissed him, tasted the intoxicating, smooth, sweet lips under hers.

His deft fingers slid through her hair and down her back, raising chills and shivers of delight. They roamed over her behind and belly, tracing the smooth flesh of her thighs. Groaning happily, Bryn sat up, Laurelin still clasped in his arms, and buried his whiskery face in her throat, lips and teeth straying lower, teeth nibbling softly on pale, pink-crowned breasts. She was flushed and gasping as she pressed up against him, pupils dilated wide. His agile fingers stole between them, nails scratching her inner thigh, gently cupping her nearly hairless sex. Her hips tilted and rocked against his hand while his fingers pressed and probed. Slowly he withdrew his hand and licked a dripping finger.

Gazing intently into Brynjolf's eyes, she captured his hand and raised his fingers to her lips where she slowly nibbled and finished licking his fingers clean. Still holding his wrist, she captured the other and pushed him over onto his back again, arms raised over his head. She let her hips swivel and press against his erection, sliding wetly across the length of him. His own hips pushed up, trying to impale her. Laure groaned with the desire that was making her head spin giddily, looked down into his pleading gaze and tilted her hips-just so—and slid onto him, head thrown back in wordless relief.

Their sleekly muscled forms blended together, moving into familiar, easy rhythms that came from years of experience with each other's secret desires. Words became unnecessary when a touch, sound, or look could communicate so much.

Bryn smiled deliriously up at the exotic elf woman as she rode him slowly; her back arching, nails scratching his sides and chest with increasing fervor. His hands, finally freed, stole up to caress her breasts, pinching her nipples lightly, making her gasp and shudder atop him. Lovingly, he traced the shadow-etched curves of her hips and sides. The sinuous undulations of her hips sent ripples of pleasure through every fiber of his being, wiping away coherent thought. His strong fingers gripped her behind and he lifted her up, only to pull her forcefully back down, both pairs of eyes closing exultantly.

Time had no meaning for them; every moment was deliciously drawn out. Shadows flickered on the walls, the light of the fire slowly dimming. Laurelin and Bryn heeded nothing but each other. Every part of them was humming with pleasure, conscious thought purged away in the fire of their combined passion. Wrapping an arm around Laure, Bryn smoothly eased her under his bulk. His long, red hair draped forward across her chest as his lips and teeth slid slowly down her body, leaving a wake of tingling fire behind. His tongue swept down lower, tasting the salty-sweet dew between her thighs, tongue stroking her cleft in long, sure strokes. Laurelin gasped and cried out, pulling his hair wildly, arching her hips to push against his smiling face.

His long, dexterous fingers circled, tapped, sought out her most sensitive places, listening to her breath coming in tiny hitching sobs. As his fingers and tongue flashed and flickered in tandem, he enjoyed the feeling of her soft thighs clamped firmly about his ears, her fingers scratching his shoulders and neck. Pleading and writhing under Bryn, Laurelin tried to pull him up so she could wrap her legs around his waist; Bryn resisted a brief moment then rose up, knees between her thighs. He gazed down at her for a moment; she was panting, hair mussed and spread over the pillows, fingers imperiously digging into his back, trying to pull him in.

Tenderness was played out for the moment, and Bryn willingly surrendered control, thrusting himself urgently, deeply into her. He let her legs wrap around his hips, long fingers digging sharp nails into his backside. The tiny amount of pain from her nails only inflamed him further. Bryn buried his face in her neck while their bodies surged together. He could feel her heels locked around his thighs, pulling him in forcefully with her strong legs. Laughter and hungry cries accompanied each upward push of her hips to meet his.

Heads swimming, out of breath, the two surged ever higher, lips fused, sweat beading on chests and faces, slick bodies tangled in the sheets. Laurelin looked up into Bryn's face and noted it was bunched up in concentration, his lower lip clamped between his teeth, eyes squeezed shut. Her fingers stole up and slid along his jaw, feathered over his lips. Green eyes suddenly open he gazed down at her bewildered for a moment until she softly said, "Smile!" His response was immediate-a joyful smile lit his eyes and face up from within. Her smile matched his, hot lips found his throat again, nibbling his ear.

Laurelin felt her body thrumming with her now approaching peak, knew Bryn would be not far behind. Her fingers roamed his chest, found both his nipples and tweaked them until he gasped, his hips pushing her thighs wide apart, driving himself wildly into her. Laure loved the expression on his face when he was about to climax and held his jaw cupped in her hands so she could gaze into his eyes, see them cloud for that instant, roll about in his head, only to fly back to hers, and immediately her own pleasure drove her over the edge with him, eyes locked, lips parted breathlessly, their faces a finger's width apart; tiny cries rising to volume that threatened to break the crockery.

Slowly their bodies stilled, her toes uncurled behind him, eyes drifted happily closed, and Bryn rested his forehead on hers. Slowly the sweat beading both of their damp bodies began to cool. Laurelin traced her fingers up the strong muscles of his back, feeling the tiny quiver in every inch of his gradually relaxing body. She eased her legs out a bit, and Bryn rolled to the side long enough for her to get comfortable, then shifted back. His fingers brushed stray locks of her hair back into place, hooked around the chain of the amulet she still wore, straightened it out so the medallion rested between her breasts again.

"Divines bless you! I needed that, Brynjolf!" Laurelin lightly announced.

Bryn reached over to the nightstand and picked up a forgotten goblet, sipping before clearing his throat. "Well, I guess that answers that question." Propped up on one elbow, he looked at her over the glass with his intense green eyes.

"You wondered how many virile young lads I've lured to my furs while I was away, I take it?"

"I'll admit the thought had crossed my mind in the months that you were gone," he levelly met her gaze as he passed the goblet over. "No, I was far too busy, let alone interested in anyone in town to warm my humble bed."

Laure smirked a little and poked his nose. "Maybe you should have taken some lass to bed. I hear you were cranky. A little rough and tumble works most of that right out for you, usually. Besides," she paused to sip the wine before continuing, "how could I expect a gorgeous, smooth-talking gentleman such as yourself to wait months for a shriveled old goat like myself?"

He traced a proud pink nipple with his tongue, eliciting some most interesting shivers. "Shriveled old goat, eh lass? I hope by now you would understand my tastes are far more refined than that. I only want the best. Ever. Now, what idiocy have these Companions of yours been filling your pretty head with? Do I need to set Thrynn and Dirge on them to protect your honor or some such?"

Laure trilled a soft laugh. "Mostly they seem to adore me, a few exceptions aside. Why, I do believe Farkas has a bit of a crush," she teased.

Bryn narrowed his sparkling, green eyes. "Ah-ha! A name! Someone I can challenge for your affections, no doubt." The mischief made his eyes twinkle in the shadows as he looked down at her.

Laure snickered to herself at the thought of Bryn challenging one of her shield brothers. Farkas would cheerfully pummel her Bryn to bits given the chance. Of course, Farkas would have to spot her flame-haired lover first. Not always an easy task, spotting Bryn when he was determined not to be seen. On the other hand, a werewolf would be able to sniff him out in no time flat...it would be an interesting match to be sure, but one she would never promote. Both were too dear to her for different reasons.

Snuggled comfortably in Bryn's warm embrace, Laure slowly drifted to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

** Chapter Six- A Hero is Born**

Awakening alone in the late hours of morning was a bit of a letdown. Bryn's side of the bed was cold, so empty. Laure snuggled into his pillow, inhaling the warm scent he had left behind, stretching languidly. A blaze of gold on the nightstand caught her attention. There stood the absurd jeweled statue of Dibella from Haelga's; a scrap of paper was tucked under the edge.

Laure yawned and reached over to tug the note out with two fingers. It read, "Dibella herself pales before your radiant beauty. See you soon, lass." Laurelin fervently hoped the lightning strike had been swift and Brynjolf had not suffered for long.

At that moment, the front door swung open; her absent lover returning after all. The smell of fresh, roasted meat and scrambled eggs wafted in with Bryn. He was wearing a simple linen tunic and soft leather trousers. His bare feet pattered quietly on the planks as he sat on the bed, eyes sparkling. "About time you woke up. Isn't there important work to be done?"

Laure rolled over and sat up, pushing tangled hair out of her face, and accepted the proffered plate eagerly. "Later!" she replied. "Did you already eat? And what's that all about?" She nodded towards the statue now in residence.

"Aye, I ate earlier, didn't want all those lovely roasted vegetables to go to waste," he smirked at her crinkled nose. "And the statue, well it's just a little welcome home present, you could say."

Laurelin chuckled. "You know I'm just going to have to put it back later, right?" She dove into the plate of food, chewing slowly, savoring the company more than the contents of her plate.

While she was breaking her fast, Bryn leaned himself back into the pillows and folded his arms behind his head. Laure was in profile, lit from behind by the light of the fire and few scattered windows. Her pale features were limned with rosy warm light, and her hair almost glowed. Now that he was really looking, her shorter hair was painfully obvious. What had been a waist-length mane of silky, platinum tresses was well above her shoulders and ragged. It had been mutilated, and now he wondered what she had really been doing these last few months.

"Helgen must have been a nightmare. Word on the streets is that only a handful of people made it out alive. Was there really a dragon?"

"There really was a dragon, Bryn. I wasn't jesting or speaking in code. A real-live, bigger-than-a-mammoth, fire-breathing dragon. 'Nightmare' only brushes the surface of the chaos reigning that day."

"Your letter said you were about to be executed when it appeared. Did that have anything to do with Ulfric Stormcloak?"

Laure nodded. "I believe the Legion just wanted everything neat and tied up. They caught me well before they got Ulfric, but they seemed to suspect I was a scout for the Stormcloaks. I was just a windfall in the end, I guess. Imagine, they had the leader of the Stormcloak rebellion _and_ the master of the Thieves guild in their hands, and lost them! Serves them right, losing it all to a dragon."

Bryn thought about this for a moment and pushed himself off the bed, lifting Laure to her feet. "Come, sit by the fire, and tell me about it while I fix your hair." She laughed and followed him willingly. He sat her down and shuffled around in her dresser until he came up with an ivory comb and a tiny pair of silver shears. Laure shrugged and sat back while he gently unsnarled the knots in her hair.

Closing her eyes, Laure asked, "Where should I start?"

"I think starting with how you were captured is a good place."

"Well, it started early the morning I crossed back into Skyrim, with a mother bear..."

Laure related her capture, the imprisonment, both the attempts at escape, Helgen, and the dragon. Bryn listened quietly while he carefully snipped and combed. Her hair really was a mess. There were burned, melted ends, little chopped-off short pieces, and most of the front was longer than the back. The snick-snick of the shears often stilled while Laure retold her story. A little pile of trimmed white-ish locks grew at his feet, and still she had more to tell.

Before she reached Whiterun in her tale, Bryn ran his long fingers through her hair. "You want me to wash it too?"

"Would you? It's been so long since I've taken care of it, or had you to help me." Laure smiled briefly. "It feels nice to worry about something as mundane as my hair. I wasn't sure if I would live, let alone make it back here. Sometimes it feels like-I don't know. I thought I had a plan, but with the recent events, there are no sureties." She ran her fingers through her now quite short locks, gave them a little tug.

Bryn turned from the fire where he was pouring water in the kettle. "Well you've made it through more than most any person alive can lay claim to." A large basin went on the table, Laure's chair was scooted back up against it's edge. "I'm glad you came back to us, Laurelin. You may think we don't need you so much any more, but you are the sole ray of sunshine in that entire, dismal place. We all worked hard to turn the Guild around, but you worked the hardest, and now we all prosper. Not just coin, lass. We're richer for having you as our friend."

"Bryn, that might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me. Well, right after you told me I have the most delectable buns this side of a sweet roll."

"I was drunk, woman! Will you never let me forget?"

"Sshweeeet roll" Laure slurred, trying not to laugh.

"So a nice cold bath is what you want? I can certainly accommodate you!"

In spite of his threats, the water was comfortably warm when he scrubbed her hair clean. When her hair was washed, dried and combed again, Bryn held up a large mirror for Laure to see her new look. He had first evened out the worst of the irregularities, then shaped it so her bangs were long, sweeping down in a curve below her chin, blending into a cut that revealed her shapely neck and ears.

"Wow. Bryn that looks amazing! You did a wonderful job! Can't even tell I've fought two dragons now!"

"Two?" His normally deep voice suddenly rose and cracked.

"Guess I haven't got that far in the story yet. Oops."

Bryn slumped into a chair, his face unreadable. "Oops, you say? How can you say 'oops' about something as unheard of as surviving two dragon attacks!"

Laure set the mirror down and dropped onto his lap, curling up with her head on his shoulder. "You know it's just my way. Truth be told, I didn't fight the first dragon. I just ran like a rabbit and tried not to get roasted. Hmm, same for the second one, come to think of it..."

"I trust I'll get the whole story from you soon?"

"Aye, there is more; I'll tell you later. Right now, I wouldn't mind a swim and some time in the sun. Care to join me?"

"Soon enough, lass." He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. Once the still naked Laurelin had been deposited on the sheets, Bryn swiftly dropped his clothes on the floor and slid in alongside her under the green cover.

* * *

Later that afternoon, a happily quivering and thoroughly sated Laure and Bryn gathered a few things, dropped their Nightingale armor into her pack, and left Honeyside through the back door. Ten minutes later they were at a tiny cove in the lake, surrounded by trees and mountains, birdsong and the hum of insects filling the air. Riften, although right around the corner, was out of sight.

This spot had always been one of their favorite sunbathing spots, close enough to town, but still removed enough to afford the two thieves a bit of privacy. They dropped their bags and clothes on the shore under a convenient outcropping of stone-one never knew when bandits might come along and try to make off with anything valuable left woefully unattended—and shed their clothes, laughing and teasing. Bryn was first in the chilly water, his Nord blood making the temperature nearly irrelevant. Nothing short of glacial melt would raise so much as a single goose-pimple on his flesh. Laurelin watched his gorgeous backside disappear as he dove in with an exuberant shout.

She followed him in more slowly, enjoying the chill water as it slipped up over her knees and thighs. Bryn came back up to the surface with a whoop and a spray of glittering drops right in front of her. His hands made a quick grab for her ankles, but Laure splashed aside and dove under before he could dunk her himself.

Swimming underwater was like a world aside for Laurelin. She would open her eyes and chase fish, pick up shiny rocks that caught her eye; or simply float under the gleaming surface, breath held, and watch the sun play above with the ripples as her hair floated about her head. Everything was somehow softer-the light, sounds, even the jagged edges of rocks.

Laure stayed down until she felt pressure building up behind her eyes and in her lungs, then followed her trail of bubbles up. Bryn was happily paddling around on his back, eyes slitted in the bright light, red hair swirling behind him. Laure quietly ducked back underwater and swam along the bottom toward Bryn, a mischievous smile spreading over her face. As she darted underneath him, her hand snaked out and pinched his behind. Bryn rolled and tried to catch her, but the little elf was already out of reach. He roared in mock fury and charged after her, raising huge gouts of spray around him as he went.

Laurelin surfaced, saw him rushing toward her, and began swimming away as quickly as she could, but Bryn was quicker. He caught one kicking ankle and hauled her in.

"Well, well, seems I didn't need to bait a hook after all to catch a fine fish! But what's this? It's so small and skinny-" he pulled her close and ran a hand up her backside to give it a pinch "-so skinny, I think I'll throw it back so it can fatten up."

Laure huffed indignantly "Keep your trousers on if you don't want to attract any more skinny fish!"

"But I had my trousers on when I attracted a certain skinny fish the first time. As I recall, a certain skinny fish didn't go hunting for bait until months after we had made our acquaintances."

"Bryn, you picked my pocket and tried to blame it on one of the orphans. What was I supposed to do? Fall right into bed with you?"

"Aye, that was my thought. Courtship can be so tiresome..." He trailed off as he noticed her warning glare. "Jesting! I was only jesting!" Laure grinned and tried to dunk him, but he was too strong and soon she was picked up and hurled backward into the water. "Back you go, skinny fish!" he chortled as the water closed over her head.

The two splashed and swam a while longer, then dried themselves on warm rocks in the sun. Once dry, they slid into their armor and headed for Nightingale Hall.

* * *

Two lean shadows had just slipped around the back of the Riften stables, moving easily from dappled sunlight to shade, leaving even the horses unaware of their presence. They were well away from the city walls when a rending bellow shredded the quiet afternoon air. Laure felt as though the world had tipped away under her feet and was shaking apart. Panic clawed its way into her heart with searing, hot pain. She wasn't ready for this!

Quickly turning to Brynjolf, she carefully said, "I think you're about to get the rest of the story-the short version, that is!" Bryn took his troubled gaze from the sky, his face still masked, but his posture betrayed his anxiety.

"What was that, lass? I've never heard anything like it."

"You could get your ass into Nightingale Hall-"

"And leave you out here to fight whatever that is?"

Another screeching howl came from over the lake, echoing wildly off the stony hills.

"Fine, just prepare yourself," she announced as calmly as she could. "Drink this." She handed him a potion of fire resist-wondering how much good it could actually do-and drank her own down in one gulp. Bryn slugged his back, drawing his sword as he drank, eyes fixed on the sky. A long, wide shadow passed over their scant hiding place, circling Riften hungrily.

"That's a dragon lass! Are you out of your mind?" Bryn cried out in alarm, his eyes wide, dropping into a low crouch as the beast flapped by again.

Laurelin laughed nervously. "Usually am with you about! Look, maybe you should get into the cave; it would be safer there." She didn't want her friend and lover to be hurt or slain by this threat. Notching an arrow, she sighted up to the monster in the sky and began edging forward.

Bryn watched as the dragon swooped low over concealment, never in his years feeling so vulnerable as this moment. "You've gone barking mad, Laurelin," he muttered, "to take on a legend incarnate with a bow and ruddy arrows!" He said a quick silent prayer and hoped their death would be quick.

Laure noted his resigned posture and said softly, "Whatever you do, don't stand still, and for the Divines sake, stay away from its head! Don't think you're safe behind it either; the tail can be just as lethal as the teeth! Best find cover and keep it looking for us. Aye?"

"Aye, you're the expert, not me." He tilted his head toward the creature. "Are we really going to fight that?"

"Who will if we don't?"

"I don't know, maybe the town guards, Mjoll, or that Dragonborn I've heard has appeared. Not us! We're thieves, dammit, not dragon slayers!" Laure's eyes widened but she bit back any quick reply.

At that moment, the scaled beast alighted on top of the stables, looking about with blazing eyes, savoring the terror of this pathetic settlement. As he lowered his head to devastate the puny mortals below him, a searing pain erupted in his back, then another lower. The dragon threw his head up and back, bellowing in anger more than pain. His fireball exploded into the sky, charring the very air.

Furiously the dragon swiveled on his perch to see who had dared to retaliate. Two black-clad figures split apart, trying to flank him. Snarling, teeth snapping together, the beast lashed out with his tail at the one dashing to his left. The figure ducked and tumbled away, barely dodging the massive spikes.

Laurelin held her third shot, until she saw the the massive head drop down, the air whistling past razor-sharp teeth. She exhaled and released the arrow, pleased with how steady her hand was in spite of everything. The shaft took the dragon clean in the right eye and interrupted another blast of flame.

Roaring in real pain now, the great beast rubbed it's head against his shoulder, drawing out more howls as the shaft finally tore free, dripping gore. Laurelin shouldered her bow and quickly summoned a flame atronach, hoping to draw the dragon's attention away from her and Bryn. Soon, small bolts of fire were arcing across the battlefield, to slam repeatedly into its flanks and wings.

The thoroughly pissed beast swiveled his long, wedge-shaped head to and fro, blind in one eye, seeking the two he would destroy first. A glimmer off to the right, then suddenly a powerful voice shouted, "**Fus**!" and the dragon was hurled off his perch in surprise, to crash heavily to the ground. Dovahkiin! The ancient creature suddenly realized the nature of his opponent, the very real peril he now faced, and struggled to regain the skies where he reigned. Too late was the realization; a tiny mer by the smell of her darted in, slipping adroitly from side to side. The dragon ignored two burning hits to his neck and wings from the conjured atronach, ignored the other mortal somewhere behind it. He would shred the Dovahkiin if that's what it wanted.

Laurelin rolled under the giant head, trying to use its blind side to her advantage. Leaping high, she hit the wall of the stables, hanging for a moment like a giant spider, then hurled herself up and out again, drawing her dagger as she flew toward it's head. Laurelin had a brief second to consider the wisdom of throwing oneself at a live, biting dragon's face before she landed right between its flaring, plate-sized nostrils. Her dagger flashed once as she drove it deep between two bronze and green scales, clinging desperately, trying to draw her sword. Glancing up, she saw one black and yellow eye focus on her, and both were fixated for a moment.

The great creature shuddered and cried out as a blade wielded by the other black-garbed figure bit deeply into the tendons of his left leg. The Dovahkiin finished drawing her sword and stabbed at the eye staring so hatefully at her. The mangled head swung about, trying to dislodge her, but the little mer clung to her knife with fearful purpose, still stabbing at his precious eye. Once again the other mortal was stabbing away, hewing out scales, leaving great weeping wounds with every assault, weaving in and out under its legs and tail.

Laure was rapidly tiring, her head was pounding, but there was no way she was going to let this creature win free and fly off to lick its wounds and nurse a grudge! Growling furiously, she hurled herself across the breadth of its snout and drove her Nightingale blade up to the hilt into it's good eye. Feeling the wet pop of its orb and the scalding hot goo and blood that soaked her whole side, she punched deeper until her arm was nearly to the elbow in the socket of the beast's eye. Out of the corner of her own eye, Laurelin saw a wing claw struggling to push her away; and so she simply reiterated her previous shout, "**Fus**!" and the wing was blown back, to fall limply to the ground. A last weak, croaking bellow rumbled out of the expiring beast, and for him the world went black.

Laure rolled off the dead dragon's head as it fell with a crash, flung away to tumble across the grass, fetching up hard against the bole of an aspen tree. Gasping and shaking, she curled up into a breathless ball, trying to decide if anything had been broken.

Brynjolf darted around the hulking corpse as it began to burn with magical fire. He edged quickly away again, not sure what was happening now. The flesh seemed to be burning right off the brightly glowing bones of the huge beast, and a weird gold and orange light was streaming ominously toward Laurelin.

Laure shuddered as she watched it unerringly drift her way. Behind, she could see Bryn frozen for an instant, but then the energy was swirling about, hissing in her ears, prickling her skin, blotting out her vision, leaving only her and the dragon soul she was devouring. No, it was devouring her!

From Brynjolf's point of view, Laurelin was suddenly engulfed in light. It seemed to soak into her shaking form. Glowing from the inside out, his lass turned her eyes to the sky-eyes that glowed brighter than the sun!-and howled in pain, confusion, utter exhilaration.

Not hesitating a moment longer, Bryn scooped up his lovely lass and cradled her close, looking for wounds. Other than a wicked tear on her calf and the burns and cuts on her forearms, she seemed intact. Most of the gore she was covered in seemed to belong to the dead dragon. He carefully set her down and pulled her pack off her shoulders, hoping she had bandages or a healing potion or two. In her pack were a handful of healing potions but no bandages. There was an old tunic, though, so he made due with what was available.

"Lass! Laurelin, stay here girl, I'm here!" he chattered nervously while he tore the tunic into strips. "What was that all about, silly elf? If you want to impress me, you don't need to run up and take a dragon for a pony ride!"

Laurelin was tossing feebly on the ground, bleeding more profusely now than he'd initially thought. The glow had faded from her eyes, but she was caught up in the throes of some strange sorcery. She was still glowing softly and muttering, not seeming to hear a word he said. Bryn cut away the leg of her pants and swore. Her calf was ripped open, the back of her boot flapping open in just the way that it shouldn't to reveal the tear that went almost to her ankle.

"Gods help me!" Frantic now, he uncorked a healing potion and poured it straight on the open wound, then swiftly tied a tight bandage just beneath her knee. More tight strips tried to keep the drooping flesh together. He wasn't aided by Laurelin suddenly stiffening up, going rigid, causing his bloody hands to slip on the knots he was tying. He glanced up and saw her eyes just opening, back to their natural icy blue-clouded with pain, but hers again.

"Lass! You have to help me, I know you have healing spells, please! Healing spells! Laurelin, I can't do this myself!" He admitted the last bitterly, feeling inadequate to the task, unwilling to watch her bleed to death, helpless to anything more. Her fingers fumbled for the cork of the healing potion, and he was able to pop it out while she squeezed tears of pain back, and tipped into her open mouth.

The blood was still pooling under her at an alarming rate; he was kneeling in it. The second potion seemed to do as little as the first, and she still wasn't using her healing. He couldn't do that for her!

Brynjolf glanced around; over at the stables a handful of guards were milling nervously about, and he could see more huddled on the walls.

"What are you milk drinkers staring at?" he screamed. "We need help! I need healing potions or a healer! Now!" he roared at them. One of the guards dashed forward with a large red bottle, skirting the skeleton looming over head. Bryn snatched it and immediately poured half down her throat, then dashed the rest onto the wound. His bloody fingers tried to hold the loose meat of her leg together as he finally saw a light, golden glow start to knit the raw edges closed.

Someone squatted down on the other side of Laurelin. Bryn spared a single glance upward, met Marcuio's gaze and nodded. Marcurio lifted his hands, chanting softly for a moment, then laid them over the terrible gash. Though destruction was the mage's stronger school of magic, his restoration seemed up to the job; and soon, the blood tapered off and the flesh held together, knitted by a long, scarlet seam of scar tissue. Bryn tried futilely to wipe away some of the blood, but only smeared it around. His eyes were stinging and blurring in an unaccustomed fashion.

Laurelin quivered and collapsed limply to the ground again, the tension that had kept her taut as a trip wire having drained away as the pain subsided. After a moment she tried to sit up, but both men gently pressed her back down. Marcurio looked up at Bryn and carefully said, "Brynjolf, take a little walk, get some air-and clean water and bandages from somewhere?" The big redhead nodded wordlessly and rose on shaking legs from his crouch.

More people were streaming out the gates, staring at him, at the bones, at his lover lying limp on the ground. A mildly amused and dazed Bryn saw a black and grey dappled horse trot around the stable to gaze thoughtfully at the clean bones of the dragon. Stunned people began shoving supplies into his arms-potions, bandages, water skins, wine skins, salves. He wheeled about and stumbled over to where Marcurio was just helping Laurelin up into a sitting position. Together Brynjolf and the mage he disliked intensely cleaned the rest of her wounds-she was still too weak to protest much—and bound them up tightly.

Finally Laurelin struggled up with some help. While Brynjolf and Marcurio had worked over her, the crowd had remained hushed. However, once she regained her feet, the lid of respectful silence came off and the entire crowd roared with delight and approval. High, ululating cries keened over the lower chanting of the guards, who banged their swords on shields and stamped booted feet.

"Dragonborn! Dragonborn! Dragonborn!" It echoed in Laurelin's spinning head, bounced off the city walls and was carried far over the darkening waters of Lake Honrich. She raised her fist to her heart and saluted the people of the town, bowing deeply in appreciation of the gratitude they were showing her.

With Bryn hovering at her side, she limped over to the corpse, scanning the ground. Her eyes picked out the haft and pommel of her favorite dagger amongst the leaf and scale litter, which Marcurio picked up and handed back to her. Next she stepped up to the skull and stared it in the face a moment, feeling its soul slithering around within hers, caressing her mind, offering up a new word for her Thu'um. Not yet, she decided.

Instead, she reached her bandaged hand and arm into its eye socket, feeling around for a hilt. Finally her blistered fingers closed on the leather-wrapped haft and she tugged it slowly free. The crowd roared even louder when they saw the black blade emerge from so deeply in the monster's head; hats were thrown in the air and laughing merchants swung town guards around in merry jigs.

Bryn whispered in her ear, "Here I thought mine was the only heart you've stolen. Seems you've made a clean getaway with the whole town's affections! I concede; you are a master among master thieves."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight- Interlude**

Once some of the tumult had died down, Laurelin and Brynjolf were able to slip away quietly, leaving a large crowd of townsfolk gathered around the scoured bones. Laure, still limping heavily, leaned on Bryn as they slid away. Bone-deep weariness and heartache made Laurelin want to sit and weep. Instead, she gritted her teeth and kept hobbling onward to Nightingale Hall.

Near the somewhat concealed entrance to the hall, Bryn came to a stop and pulled Laurelin around into a gentle hug. "So, it seems you had quite a bit more of the story to tell me after all. Why did you not say _you_ were the Dragonborn?" Laurelin was unable to speak, feeling completely overwhelmed and unsure what was to come next. Bryn sensed her hesitance and filled the silence with his musical voice, waiting until she was ready to speak.

"What was the part at the end with the lights and glowing and the howling? I've never dreamed—well if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I might never have believed it to be true! To think, dear little Laurelin Vo'Shai-Nightingale, master thief, Dragonborn! Ha! That will tweak Ulfric the right way, no doubt about it. Precious 'Skyrim for the Nords' arsehole will have something new to consider now. The Dragonborn returns and _she_ isn't a Nord, or even human! What I wouldn't give to hear him get that juicy tidbit!" Bryn realized he was rambling, and Laure had her head buried in his chest, fists bunched tightly into his shirt, her shoulders shaking.

Worried, Bryn lifted her chin and realized she was shaking with laughter. "How do you do that? Make me feel better just by talking? Gods Bryn, you missed your calling. You should have been a bard." Her face still told a tale of weariness, but she seemed much more at ease now. She sighed and looked him over. "Are you well? You weren't injured, were you?"

Bryn shook his head, "Yes and no, respectively. I am well. Thanks to you, no, I wasn't injured. I don't think anybody was except yourself!" He shook his head, still somewhat disbelieving himself. Not wanting to pressure her he simply said, "Tell me when you will, lass; I can wait until you're ready. But I want to know everything."

Laure nodded and leaned against his chest, ear pressed to his heart. "I learned about being Dragonborn outside of Whiterun, when I killed the second dragon I encountered. The swirling lights are the dragons soul, which I can absorb and use to give power to my Voice." She shuddered softly. "Taking in the soul of a proud, ancient, sentient creature such as a dragon is not very pleasant. My mind feels tattered afterward, tattered yet overwhelmingly powerful and invigorated. Two dragon souls I've taken in now; Bryn, how long until mine own is crowded out or pushed so deeply down I become someone else? The Greybeards have summoned me to High Hrothgar; I'll be heading up there soon to discover what knowledge they can share." As she moved to wipe her face, the gore on her hands caught her attention and she grimaced with her nose crinkled up. Bloody hands seemed to be a too common sight now a days.

Brynjolf nodded thoughtfully. A few of the ramifications of this news were starting to settle in his mind. "The whole of Skyrim is going to be clamoring for you to save them, Laurelin. Or trying to discredit you for your lovely pointed ears. Are you ready for such things?"

Laurelin smiled bitterly. This was a cup she had never wished to drink from. "Is anyone ever prepared for..." she clenched her tiny, gore-covered fist and watched the dried blood flake away, black and thick. She continued slowly, "Is anyone ever prepared to have this kind of burden thrust on their shoulders? I doubt it. Am I ready? No, most certainly not. However, I will learn, and do what I must."

Bryn nodded, stroking her hair. "I know you will, lass. It isn't in your nature to do anything less than your best. It would seem your destiny is set along a glorious path."

Laurelin kicked a rock under her foot, a frown pulling her features into a dark scowl. "Fuck destiny, Bryn." She sighed and her toned softened, "Your understanding is a gift beyond measure, but I have no need for this '_glorious path_'. I just wanted to...I don't know, live happily, disgustingly, rich in that lovely mansion in Solitude-you know the one, right next to Vittoria Vici's. You and I, robbing the indolent rich of their secrets and information. Training an elite new guild that could once again link all of Tamriel! Either that or I would go back to the simple life. Live off the land and what I can make with my blades, like I was when I met you. This business of saving the realm from mythical monsters isn't what I signed up for."

Bryn kissed the top of her head through his mask. "You know you always grumble the loudest about a job before you take it. Face it, you love a challenge that is unique. How much more unique can you be, Dragonborn?"

"Turn around and let me show where you can stow your fancy 'unique' title dear one!"

"Ach, but you would need to catch me first, and unless I throw you over my back, you'll not be catching me on your bum leg."

"Insufferable egomaniac!" She teased.

"Fat, talentless, puppet." He taunted.

"Oh! Now you are really asking for it. When I can catch you on my own two feet..."

"I'll be terribly worried then. Aye, I understand!" Pulling his mask down, he gently pressed a kiss to her forehead. His warm voice filled the silence between them again. "You have family and friends here. You've the very best, most eloquent and dashing business partners imaginable. We'll help take care of the little day-to-day matters. As long as you can take care of the not-so-day-to-day particulars that may swoop down."

Laure squeezed him tighter, lightly ran a knuckle over the jagged scar on his cheek. So handsome, so easy to lose your heart to, her human lover. "We should go inside; I can tell you and Karliah the rest when we're all together. We should include her in any plans we make at any rate." Her hand trailed down his cheek, the backs of her fingers tickled by his short, red whiskers.

His own hand rose up to capture hers. He kissed her bloody fingers and turned to slide into Nightingale Hall. He was actually looking forward to this part. "I suppose you're correct. Very little can escape Karliah's extensive information network, but I suspect this will be news indeed."

* * *

Karliah greeted them warmly, and if the ripe stench of dragon's blood bothered her, it didn't show on her face as she helped them clean up. "It would appear you have been busy, Nightingales!" she observed in her soft, lilting voice. Her vivid, lavender eyes took in every detail as she poured water into a large kettle. Laurelin was covered in layer upon layer of black, flaking gore, her left pant leg was cut away to above her knee, the leg itself was obscured by a mass of tightly wound bandages, and the boot was tied closed with a scrap of an old tunic. Her right arm was in a similar condition to her leg, the fingerless, armored gloves of the beautiful armor shredded, newly mended burns and cuts clearly visible through the rends.

"Oh aye, business as usual Karliah." Bryn snorted, his hand still protective around Laurelin's waist, propping her up.

"Does the gore that seems to have drenched both of you have anything to do with the commotion I heard out there earlier?"

"Best let our lass here explain, I imagine." He steered Laure to a chair by the fire and eased her down. He sat down heavily himself, rubbing his temples with thumb and forefinger. While Laurelin collected her thoughts, Karliah brought them both leather cups of clean, cool water to drink and began rummaging through her chests, looking for something the petite Bosmer could wear.

"Where to start, Karliah? There is so much to tell...can we start a bath and I can tell you while I get this blood off of me? Damn it, I just got clean! Now here I am, my favorite armor ruined because I jumped on a dragon!"

Karliah's eyes sparkled in the torchlight as her gazed flicked from Brynjolf to Laurelin, and her dark face lit up with excitement. "Was that what I heard out there? A dragon? So it's true then: the dragons have returned to Skyrim!" She whirled and poured more water into the kettle. "Brynjolf would you mind fetching a bit more water please? I'll get her comfortable."

Bryn grunted and walked away with four empty buckets.

"Will the both of you stop treating me like a cripple already?" Laure grumbled as she cut the rags tying her left boot on. The buckles and straps swinging loosely, she nudged it off with her other toe. As she began struggling out of the rest of her armor, Laure began filling her Dunmer friend in on the news of the last few months.

Karliah listened with her customary quiet patience, letting the whole tale spin out before she did more than nod or make small noises here or there. After Bryn and Laure had cleaned up as much as possible, Karliah took Laure's hands, folded them in her own slate-colored fingers, and shared her warmth.

"It seems to me we will need to carry on much as we have prior to this. I of course can still assist Brynjolf in what ever I am able in Guild matters. As to the unfortunate discovery of our existence as Nightingales, I believe the time for implicit secrecy is past. I know it has been a long time since any of us have bothered to hide ourselves from the Guild. As long as the Twilight Sepulcher remains safe, and the key untouched, I feel we are free to conduct ourselves as we see fit." Her bright lavender eyes glimmered as she clapped her hands together, amusement lifting her soft voice. "Truly I am pleased to see Gallus's Nightingale blade and my old bow being put to such good use. Shall I say though, try not to lose a limb next time you pit yourself against such foes? Picking pockets and locks with one hand is so much more difficult."

Bryn snorted softly, eyes studying the open book in his hands. "She should be so lucky. You didn't see her wall jump onto a live dragon. I'll never forget that, if I live to see a thousand years. Complete, utter, brave insanity it was!"


	9. Chapter 9

_I would like to thank any readers at this point for taking some of your precious time to read this. I welcome comments and reviews, any positive feedback is like water a thirsty soul. Please take another moment to let me know what you think! _

**Chapter Nine- The High Road**

_Hail Companion!  
Laurelin, I hope this note finds you well. I have grown quite fond of our late night talks, and I look forward to resuming them when you happen to return to Whiterun. I confess a growing sense of unease has descended upon me. While I hesitate to pry you away from your business abroad, things here in Jorrvaskr grow more difficult by the day. There are matters I feel your experience would be invaluable in helping me to solve. Please, when you find yourself in the area next, come help an ailing old man ease his mind. Warmest regards,  
—Kodlak Whitemane_

_Most respectful greeting to the Dragonborn Laurelin Vo'Shai from Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun. The esteemed Jarl wishes to express his gratitude for many recent acts of selfless valor on your part, helping the hold in times dark and dangerous. He hereby offers you the honorary title of Thane of Whiterun. It is his wish that you be allowed to also purchase property in the city itself. If you are interested in accepting this small token of Whiterun's esteem, your invitation to Dragonsreach is open. Please visit anytime it suits you. We humbly await your response and your return to our fair city.  
-P. Avenicci, Steward of Dragonsreach_

Laurelin idly thought on recent events as she trudged up the path to High Hrothgar. It felt as though she had scarcely returned to Riften-had never unpacked truthfully-before the letters arrived, one after the other.

Bryn had insisted she rest for a week in Honeyside, although he let her conduct some Guild business from her bed, injured leg propped up on cushions. Upon reading each of the letters from Whiterun, she had realized how much shorter her time in Riften really was than she initially thought. There was still an unknown stretch of time with the Greybeards on the Throat of the World to account for as well. "Damn it all to Oblivion!" The dainty looking Bosmer had swore under her breath while Bryn leaned against her side, chewing the end of a quill, looking over the ledgers.

"Relax lass, we'll take care of it." he said without seeing why she was peeved.

"Sorry dear one, this isn't something I can get help with. Alas, the poor Jarl of Whiterun still wishes me to become one of his upstanding citizens and would proclaim me Thane! Hah!" Her brow furrowed. "You know you were right. It's already beginning, the pushing and pulling me about to try and gain status, or support for any faction that can claim to befriend the Dragonborn."

"It will only get worse from here on out. Heroics are all fine and well when no one knows your name or face, but that cat is out of the bag now. Normally I'd gloat and say something like 'I told you so,' but since you're trotting off and leaving me once again, I'd say the jest is on me."

Laure couldn't argue.

After a fortnight in Riften, Laure had decided she couldn't put off her pilgrimage up the Throat of the World any longer. Everything had been arranged to work as smoothly as possible within the Guild while she was away. As it stood, there was (unsurprisingly) little she needed to do. Meticulous as always, Bryn had recently honed the process down to one he could easily handle on his own during her long absence.

As usual, saying goodbye had been the most difficult thing for them. This parting was the hardest of all. Both keenly felt the cruel knife of Destiny—bitch that she was-slowly cutting them away from each other. In the end, Brynjolf had simply kissed her sadly and whispered, "Come back soon?"

"As soon as I can, dear one." Laure had slid out the back door of Honeyside with a sigh of regret.

Now, walking up the steps to High Hrothgar, the Bosmer would give her sword hand to have his lips warm hers once again.

After the death of her mate in Valenwood several decades ago, Laurelin had figured someone would come along to fill the hollow left in her heart. Bryn had snuck in the side door as it was. She had been living almost entirely in the wilds, occasionally acting as a guard or guide for a few coins. A darkness had filled her whole mind after her mate had been killed, one that had not lifted until a fateful day in Riften when she met a man who had the nerve to accuse her of being a thief. An overly confident, smooth talking, utterly charismatic rogue, with a voice that had set her on fire. His voice had been the _only_ reason she'd not skinned him alive. It had immediately begun warming the icy walls she had built up around her heart. Damn if she could control herself around him.

Now perhaps she realized how much he had changed her life in just a few short years. The problem with Brynjolf was that she could not picture him ever retiring from the Guild. He loved the business, the gold, and he loved a clever scam. She suspected he even loved her. She _knew_ that much actually, when she admitted it to herself. But he would never leave the Guild by itself with only Vex or Delvin to lead them–or worse, let it fall into Maven Black-Briar's hands–especially now that the Guild was wealthy and gaining more respect throughout Skyrim.

Laure smiled sadly into the furs wrapped around her neck and face. No, Bryn would not leave, even for her-not that she would ask! Truthfully, he loved his work, and as much as he objected to being burdened with the responsibilities, he had a certain flair for it. He had instituted a strict literacy policy for all the members of the Guild. He had also begun having "Etiquette Parties,"' which really meant fancied up thieves trying to learn courtly manners.

"All part of the plan, lass!" he had airily announced. Laure had seen the desperate look in his eye before she left though. Con men always wanted to think their pitch was believable, and Bryn was no different in this. She knew he would grow bored and irate if she didn't make an effort to relieve him of his duties every now and again. Oblivion take her, here she was again, on the road, with her mind leagues away, hung up on thoughts of a scarred, emerald-eyed human. Laurelin forced her thoughts to the present once again.

* * *

Warned that ice trolls were known to lurk along the trails, she began searching out high ground as soon as she caught the first whiff of troll stink. Effortless sneaking over uneven, snowy ground only came after scores of years hunting. Laurelin had a few handfuls of scores under her belt as it happened. Soon, she was sighting down her notched arrow at the back of the beast's craggy head. Although it hadn't spotted her yet, it paced back and forth a few strides, sniffing the air.

Smoothly, Laurelin released bowstring and breath, reached for a second shaft before the first had flown farther than a running stride. The bowstring stopped its nearly inaudible humming as she readied her next shot. Satisfaction and concentration focused her, pure hunter's instinct compelling her to wait until the troll finished reeling about, her first arrow protruding from its left shoulder. Her second, perfectly timed shot flew with lethal accuracy and punched clean through the back of the shaggy beast's skull. It collapsed with a muffled grunt to the icy ground, long limbs askew.

Laurelin knew she hadn't necessarily needed to kill this troll, except it was a menace to travelers less adept than herself in sneaking or archery. And it had been a long time since she had hunted just for the sake of stalking prey. Soon she would hunt for its sake alone, but for now, something pulled her up this vast spire of rock, around and up.

Not having bothered to count the seven thousand steps, Laurelin finally came around a sharp bend to see the dark stones of High Hrothgar, endless snow blowing fitfully here and there, high above the plains, and even the other mountain peaks. Invigorated by the long climb rather than wearied, she pushed open the tall, embossed doors and stepped into the monastery of the Greybeards.

Inside, Laurelin learned much, and more. Her swift mastery of various words of Power and her deft usage of her Thu'um both impressed and frightened the four weathered old men who lived in the monastery. She was aware that these men knew more than they were willing to tell her, and still she had not met the fifth member of the monks, their leader, Parthurnax. He was reported to live near the very summit of the Throat of the World in almost total isolation. This bothered Laurelin. Why had they summoned her if they were not prepared to be completely forthcoming?

Laurelin spent a few weeks in constant meditation, learning, and practicing the words of her Thu'um they had shared with her. Soon though, the staid pace of their life—not to mention Arngeir's constant insistence the Voice be used only to venerate the Divines-began to chafe.

Laure politely took her leave, bowing respectfully to the four Greybeards as she departed. They had gifted her with several new words of her Thu'um; the power throbbed in her very core. She also left with the location of another word of power marked on her map. All this did not come free, however generous the monks had been. They wished her to retrieve an artifact of great historical significance to them. Somehow fetching this item would prove her worthiness to carry the title Dovahkiin.

_Maybe one of the twins would like to come along_, she thought to herself. She planned to stop at least briefly in Whiterun to check in with Kodlak. It would be good to sit with him after the evening meal, to listen while he recounted tales from his remarkable store of Companion and Skyrim's lore. She missed Aela as well, who was always honest, yet tactful, enthusiastic, a superb huntress. A true shield sister.

Once Laurelin rounded the bend on her way down and saw Dragonsreach far below, she left the road to travel nearly straight down in some places, cutting overland, eyes and ears alert for prey. Hours later and miles down it seemed, in the tumbled hills at the base of the Throat of the World, Laure watched the sun sink into the far horizon, etching the dusky mountains far away with molten gold and ruby.

Masser hung huge and heavy over the darkening land. "Ah-ooooh!" she softly howled, thinking of her werewolf shield siblings. As if a sign from above, the wind carried to her sharp ears the bone-chilling call of a hunting wolf pack. "Ah, sweet music to my pointy ears! Good hunting, brothers and sisters!" Whether she meant the two- or four-legged hunters was unclear, even to herself.

Shouldering her gear along with the corded bundle of rabbit and pheasants she'd shot down, Laure set off on the last leg of her journey back to Whiterun.

* * *

Town was quiet when she arrived; most everyone had already turned in for the night. As she strode up through the Plains District, another lantern was put out, further darkening the street. Coming up the steps, Laure paused and cast her gaze upon the Gildergreen tree. It slumbered, but not peacefully. Perhaps someday she would give in to her compulsion and climb the tree, sing a few of the old songs, see if she could discover the source of it's ailment. She knew it would be lovely if it ever re-awakened. Not now though.

Turning right, she leaped the narrow stream flowing around the big circle and bounded up the stairs toward brightly lit Jorrvaskr.

Slipping inside the warm mead hall felt right somehow. Vignar and Farkas were drinking and laughing about something together at the tables; Ria was reading something over Njada's shoulder, mirth dancing across her sweet features. They all glanced her way and nodded easily, calling their welcome, but none rose to greet her.

_So much for a warm welcome home_, she thought to herself a little sadly. No matter, she was the newest member, and they all had lives to live beyond waiting eagerly for her return. She shrugged to herself and slung the limp carcasses of her kills over a convenient chair before heading downstairs.

Laure halted in the downstairs hallway, undecided for a moment. Go straight to bed or check in with Kodlak first? Checking in with the Harbinger seemed the best idea. She wasn't really that tired, and company sounded nice right now.

Laurelin was just pulling even with the side hallways that led to the Circle's sleeping quarters when she heard the door behind her click shut. Half turned, she nearly cried out in alarm as she was literally swept off her feet. Incredibly strong, solid arms cradled her to a broad chest. Looking up into Farkas's silvery-gray eyes gleaming in the torchlight, she gasped. He looked hungry.

Calmly as she could, Laure rested a hand on his chest saying, "Farkas, please put me down, you nearly scared the piss out of me!"

His pale, hungry gaze held hers a moment, but he set her gently back on her feet, letting his fingertips glide up her back. "All right, but only because you asked so pretty. And you looked like a trapped fawn just now. Never could eat baby deer. Too cute." His wide toothy smile glinted down at her.

Laurelin laughed softly, "What else do you think is cute?"

"Oh you know, the usual. Babies, puppies..."

"Kittens?"

"Not so much," he shrugged his wide shoulders, still grinning. "Come see me after you talk to the old man, we need to have a drink, you can tell me what you've been doing this last moon."

Laure twirled away. "On my honor, shield-brother."

Kodlak was thrilled to see her again. They sat and chatted a few moments about light matters before the perceptive man noted the little mer's swift glance at the door. He winked and said, "I won't keep you from your mead long; I can hear Farkas mulling it and pacing from here."

Laure raised her eyes to the ceiling ruefully. She had forgotten how few real secrets this group could keep from each other. Scent and sound spoke louder than mere words to a werewolf's senses.

Kodlak quickly summarized his concerns, mostly regarding the increasing moodiness of Vilkas as he wrestled with his beast blood. "It tears him apart to deny the hunt, so he prowls the halls, yelling about trivial things, or beats the shite out of whoever will spar with him, mostly Farkas now. Everyone else is tired of Danica harping when she heals their cuts and split heads." He sighed, tugging at the top of his left boot distractedly. "I thought it would be better to not give in to the blood for a time, while I search for a cure. Now I see that perhaps the call is too strong for constant refusal."

"Why would you search for a cure? It seems a marvelous gift. I myself would leap at the chance to improve my senses so dramatically."

"It is a curse, Laurelin, one that has burdened our order for too long. The gifts of the blood are many, but some lose themselves in those gifts, forget their humanity. Those poor souls will never know rest in life nor death. Sovngarde is denied the honorable dead; they instead join the Daedric Prince Hircine in his eternal hunting grounds. Some like Aela and Skjor embrace this future. I do not. I wish to cleanse myself and when I die, pass into Sovngarde. Vilkas tries to honor me by denying his own changes, though it costs him much."

" Well this sounds very grim, but I'm not sure how I can help, Harbinger," Laurelin softly replied.

"Just having you here to listen to the fears of an old, sick man is help enough, dear one. The rest of the Circle are too close to be objective. The others are mostly too young or rash to listen; they still are learning about themselves and honor. You have a calmness, a hunter's instinct and wisdom-an old soul, if the phrase doesn't offend."

Chuckling, Laure replied, "I have an old body to match, though appearances haven't caught up with me yet!"

"I thought so, but I would never ask. Rude and all that rot." A tired smile crossed his face and he patted her hand with his own shrunken fingers—had they always been so thin and wasted?-and shooed her gently out. "Sounds as though Farkas has finished tidying up; better move along."

Laure stood up and smiled as she bent to kiss his wrinkled cheek goodnight. He was a dear man. "Good night, Kodlak. Get some rest." She skipped towards Farkas's door, looking forward to mead and more company. As she neared the twins rooms, the door across from his room cracked open.

"Shield-sister, honor to you." Vilkas quietly said. His customary rich baritone sounded raspy, unused. Or overly so. He hesitated, eye pressed to the crack in the doorway, then let the door swing open a little further.

He looked like hell, unshaven, the remnants of his warpaint faded like bruises around his sunken eyes, cheeks gaunt and shadowed. His normally perfect hair was uncombed or washed, much like his clothing.

"Vilkas, honor to you shield-brother. It is good to see you again." The little blonde Bosmer looked up into Vilkas eyes and meant it. "Although, you seem tired."

"I am," he grunted with a perplexed look on his face. He seemed about to say more, but he sniffed once and a pale fire seemed to kindle in his eyes. "You shouldn't keep him waiting; he knows you're out here. Good night." With that, his door forcefully clicked shut.

Perplexed herself, Laurelin stared for a moment at Vilkas' closed door. _Well_. That _was uncomfortable!_ she thought. Shrugging, she turned and knocked lightly on Farkas's shut door. He swung it open immediately, graciously led her to a stool at the bar in his room. Laure glanced around swiftly; definite signs of a hurried cleanup. A large basket of clothes spilled over in one corner, empty bottles hidden on a low shelf, carefully straightened furs on the narrow bed. Her eyes came to rest on a lute, out of place with all the masculine decor of skins, bottles, and weapons.

"I didn't realize you are a musician, Farkas!" She grinned up at him while he pushed her stool closer to the bar.

"I'm not, really. I used to play more when I was a whelp. Now I just don't seem to have a reason to play." He settled himself on his own stool next to her and slid a brimming tankard of steaming mead to her fingers.

"That's too bad. I love music," murmured Laurelin, warming her fingers on the sides of the tankard.

"Do you play any instruments, Laurelin?"

She grimaced a little. "Sadly, only skill I have with strings are bow-strings. I do love to sing, though." She raised her drink toward Farkas, who lifted his own. "To the Companions, and to music to fill these quiet halls someday-may you find your muse soon Brother!"

"Aye, my muse-we'll find it." He watched Laurelin as sipped her mead. Her pale brows shot up in surprise, eyes wide, then they drifted closed. _Oh no! Had he made it too hot?_

The perfectly heated, delicately spiced mead rolled smoothly down Laurelin's throat, warming her belly and throat deliciously. _Oh that was good!_ she thought to herself, rolling the last drop of her sip across her tongue, savoring the velvety smooth finish. She realized Farkas had a stricken expression on his face, so she quickly smiled reassuringly, saying, "Delicious! I love it warm and spiced liked this!" She clapped her hands happily then wrapped them back around her mug, lifting it for another sip.

"You are so weird," he blurted, then promptly tried to recover. "What I mean is, well, you're this powerful, smart, beautiful woman who could probably take over the world, and here you are excited about spiced ruddy mead! I don't get it." His pale eyes shone as he looked earnestly into Laure's.

She reached over and ran her left thumb over his cheek, felt his face press against her hand, the ever-present stubble tickling her palm and admired his open face, less forbidding without the face paint and dirt. "It's simple, really. I strive to find something that amazes me every day. Something good, something interesting, something to learn or share. It can be a challenge; there have been days when the only good thing about it was that I was still breathing. Some days that was the worst thing, to still be alive. Yet I still lived, and that became a good thing eventually. So, I try no matter how evil the day has been, to look for the the good, the higher truths that make life a blessing and not a burden."

He was giving her that voracious look again, so Laure pulled her hand back, picked up her mead. "I just found another good thing for the day!"

"What were the others?" he asked, a playful smile on his face.

Her eyes glinted like chips of ice as she licked a drop of mead from her lips. "Hunting is usually good, as it was today." A small quirk of her lips, and a sidelong glance toward the big man.

Farkas leaned over and sniffed lightly. "Rabbits and pheasant don't count as hunting." he teased.

"They might disagree with you, were they able, O' mighty slayer of giants!"

The two of them laughed and drank much more that night. Farkas at some point discovered the Dragonborn was ticklish, which amused him terribly and he exploited mercilessly–until Laurelin lost control of her Voice and accidentally shouted Farkas into a wall. Tiny showers of dust drifted down from the mortar between the thick stones. Several doors down the hall opened momentarily, then slammed shut, muffling the curses of the owners.

Laurelin and Farkas gaped at each other and giggled softly at first then louder. The big man picked himself up and shook his head. "Remind me if I ever try it again, tickling the Dragonborn is unwise!"

They righted the stools and settled back down, swapping tales and battle stories. Laure lost a drunken arm wrestling match and happily shelled out the fifty septims she owed him. She also owed him a lingering kiss to finish paying her bet.

She would have to arm wrestle him some more if this was what all his kisses were like. She had expected him to simply claim his kiss, to crush her lips to his, but he didn't. His hands wove into her short hair, gently massaged her scalp, played a fingertip along her ear, which made her shudder a little. One of his eyebrows shot up and Laure could see him filing that away for later.

His full, firm lips brushed hers for an instant, then withdrew. He touched her nose with the tip of his, a wide grin making a dimple appear in his cheeks. Laurelin loved men with dimples. An impish smile lit her face and she leaned closer, nipping his lower lip, tasted the mead, the essences of the spices. Their lips met, slid eagerly along the others mouth. She parted her lips and let her tongue caress his for a long intoxicating moment then pulled away, opened her eyes to see Farkas slowly do the same. She shivered once and slipped out of his hands, mischievous, hungry smile on her candlelit face. Farkas stared at her for a long moment while she poured herself a cup of water, his bright eyes hooded, a smirk on his face.

" Are you going to play hard to get? It won't work with me. I can tell you're interested at least."

Laure drained her water, poured some more before replying, "I'm not playing games with you brother. I won't lie, say I'm not interested. We both know it. That's fine, we are all adults here, correct? My caution has somewhat to do with the amount of mead I've drank tonight, and there is someone I adore back in Riften...I don't want to rush. Shit, sorry, I really do want to just go ahead and jump in the furs with you! I've kind of wanted to since I met you. But most humans take a dim view of having multiple lovers." She finished her water again.

"Huh, well thanks for being honest. I think I see what you're saying. So how about one more arm wrestling match?" His eyes twinkled at her from under his heavy brow.

Laure hopped off her stool quickly, putting it between her and the big werewolf. "Well, I had better be getting off. To bed I mean. I'll be going now. Thank you, Farkas, I enjoyed getting to catch up..." she was already turning to leave—she wasn't fleeing—when his hands slid over her shoulders, down her arms, capturing her while his dark head bent close to her ear.

His whispered growl made her shiver again. "I would win another kiss and _that's_ why you're leaving. You're more than interested. I think I could pick you up and push you against that door and you'd like it! I don't think you would fight me at all." His breath on her ear and nape were giving her hungry chills.

"I could pretend to fight it," she whispered, turning her face to glance over her shoulder, heart pounding. His fingers tight on her arms, he lowered his lips to her nape.

Lightning, hot and shocking surged down her spine as he bit her neck, kissed away the pain, trailed his lips a short distance up, and bit her again, leaving her gasping with desire. As his lips traveled up her neck to her earlobe, Laurelin could not stop herself from writhing back against him, arching her back as her hips pressed against his. With her arms still held by his hands, he was able to bend her forward, picking her up, covering her tiny body with his. Her tiny soft moans blended with his ragged breathing, when he thrust his hips forward, and Laure felt him pressing against her thighs. Her hips involuntarily rocked against the bulge pressing his breeches out.

Farkas groaned as he crushed her lithe body to his chest. She looked fragile, but he knew she was strong. Not as strong as himself of course, but that was only natural. She was confidant, friendly, smart, and beautiful. He'd had an eye on her from the first time he met her. Anyone who could out shoot Aela deserved a chance, that was obvious. He was glad she fit so well, and she was one of the only people other than Kodlak who didn't treat him like he was stupid. She had never laughed at his expense, nor had he ever heard her be unkind to anyone at all. Now, finally he was able to taste and fully drink in the intoxicating smell of this alluring elf-woman.

He finally released her arms, slid his massive hands around her tiny waist, and spun her, lifting at the same time, still nibbling hungrily at her pale throat. He felt her lips slide over his hard cheek, then bite him back, to softly kiss away the throb. Farkas felt his knees trembling suddenly, so he spun and strode purposefully to to his bed.

Laurelin was reeling, her body deliciously afire when her back hit the furs. Farkas was already sliding up between her legs, eyes agleam, his fingers pushing up the hem of her tunic. She moved to help him, when an enraged shout and the sound of shattering glass penetrated her euphoria—an instant after Farkas stiffened and pulled away.

Helplessly, out of breath, desire and sadness in both expressions, they gazed at each other. From the sound of it, Vilkas was ransacking his own room. Farkas frowned, saying, "I should go make sure he doesn't do something he regrets in the morning. Sorry." He was already moving out the door.

Laure took a moment to straighten her clothes and hair, let her breathing even out, then swept up her forgotten pack. Farkas was talking softly at the door, too quiet for her to tell what was being said. It seemed to have stopped Vilkas overturning things, whatever was said. Flustered, she paused behind Farkas a moment, but he shook his head to let her know he was handling it. Before she could move away, the door flew open.

Vilkas stared wildly at them-huddled together, she with livid red and purple bite marks on her neck—and his lip curled derisively. Farkas, softly muttered, "I said I'm sorry, I didn't know this would bother you, brother. I..." The big man reached for his twin, who stepped back, bitter amusement creasing his face.

"What do I care _who_ you bed, brother? It's _where_. It's not as if I can hear everything, smell-oh wait, I can!" Vilkas broke off for a moment, then continued, "If you both want each other so much, fine, go fuck her sweet little ass until dawn. I can't-won't-stop you!" He slammed his door shut in their faces, but not before he caught a glimpse of the crushed hurt of his twin, and the pale fire that made the tears in his shield-sisters eyes shine.

Mortified, furious, Laurelin whirled, bolted blindly for the front doors, leaving Farkas, confused and alone at his brothers door.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten- Becoming**

Laurelin raced out of Whiterun, tearing past the sleepy guards and startling them into sudden alertness. Pain and frustration crystallized into her need to hunt. Sniffing the predawn wind, she had a moment of regret. She should have grabbed Farkas on her way out so they could hunt together. _Or have a few moments of privacy_. Not to mention her wolfish friends had such keen noses, finding game would be easy. Relying on her own natural senses, Laure was able to swiftly take down a small buck. She butchered it, eating the heart raw, as she liked it, then stacked rocks in a small cairn over what she didn't plan on taking right away.

Still hungry for the hunt, the petite Bosmer soon picked up the spoor of a sabre cat. Hunting cats was infinitely more dangerous than deer, but she felt more than up to the challenge tonight. By Nocturnal, what she wouldn't give to have a dragon fly overhead now. However, no obliging dragon presented itself to her, so Laure made do with sabre cat.

She stalked back to Jorrvaskr well after sunrise-leaving a trail of gaping early morning shoppers behind her—lugging a heavy pelt filled with raw meat. Once inside the mead hall, she hoisted the bundle onto a side table, glancing around. The main room was empty but for Torvar and Skjor.

"What do you need, whelp?" Skjor declined to look up and address Laurelin eye to eye, who's temper was short this morning.

"Could you please not treat me like a child Skjor, I-"

"Can you act like an adult, Dragonborn? Maybe a little less like a bitch in heat perhaps?" He continued eating, still not looking up at her.

Laurelin wanted to rip his throat out and shout down in his face, but she took a deep breath, let slowly out through clenched teeth. He was of course, correct. _Bastard_. She unclenched her fists and flatly said, "Farkas." Skjor stabbed a finger toward the doors leading out back, still not having taken his eyes from his plate. Torvar on the other hand, had shrunk down quietly in his chair, bleary eyes meandering fearfully from the older Companion to the newest.

"Thank you, shield-brother." she said as sweetly as she could, then swung around him, vaulting over the table to the doors. She ignored his outraged cries and slid outside. Farkas and Ria were both outside, the sturdy, cute Ria watching the big man while she ate. He was lunging, shuffling, parrying and blocking imaginary foes with restrained fury.

* * *

He smelled her right away of course, with his senses as keyed to her as they were, it was unlikely that she could ever sneak up on him. He finished his exercises, then turned his attention to where she stood, watching him intently.

"Wow! Do you have _any_ idea how insane you look right now?" He asked, a note of awe in his voice. She stood there, blood smeared across her face, short hair standing out in pale spikes of pink, clothes torn in several long parallel slashes. He could smell the sabre cat on her, sharp, dangerous.

"Some, aye. Come with me." Laurelin spun about and strode up the porch, certain he would follow. They quickly passed through the upper room and headed downstairs. Farkas tried to pull her to a stop when he realized where precisely she was headed, but she shrugged his hand off and kept right on going. Finally the big man stepped in front of Laure, blocked the doorway with broad shoulders. He glanced behind him at Vilkas's closed door, shaking his head.

"This won't work. You're pissed, so'm I. He is too. Look, he's smart, makes it tougher on him when he messes up. He _knows_ he was an ass. But you trying to force an apology out of him before he's ready will only make it worse. We've been dealing with the blood for a long time now, Laurelin; right now every one needs to cool off."

Laure gave him an impassive stare, not ready to relent. Farkas continued, "You don't get it. Everything I can taste and smell, he can. He can sense my moods, as I can his. Even before the beast blood, we always-knew things. Our wolf spirits make all that so much stronger. Don't worry, when he's ready he'll say he's sorry."

"Oh, Farkas, I'm sorry! It's infuriating that he takes his frustration out on others. Why doesn't he just leave when he gets cranky?" She let herself be turned around and steered toward the dorms.

"Where would he go? Out to the Mare to drink his senses away? Hunt on the plain? It's harder to resist out there, sometimes. Of course here in town there is all the lovely meat wandering around, practically begging to be devoured. Where would _you_ go, little elf? How would you fight the need to _kill_, and kill some more? The urge is always there, just waiting for the tiniest slip of control. For those with the blood we fight it, fuck it, or eat it." His voice was low, right at her ear again, growling softly.

"I-I guess I didn't think about that. Again I apologize. Why do you let the others insult you all the time?" she asked as he sat her down on her bed, and rummaged through her small nightstand for clean, whole clothes and finding only a blue dress.

His characteristic shrug briefly lifted his shoulders "Mostly they just tease. We're not exactly known for flowery expressions and soft looks. It's a hard life we live. Are you really going to wear a dress?"

"It'll do. I brought money to buy a house; I guess I can afford some new clothes too." She took the garment from his hands, looking up at him. "Thank you for explaining. And for stopping me from doing something foolish. Skjor already accused me of acting like a bitch in heat."

"He said that to you?" Farkas looked like he was going to change into a wolf right there for a brief moment, then his smile and dimple appeared. "I've heard I do that to the ladies, don't worry."

"Yes, completely irresistible, all your fault. I had no choice in the matter." She winked up at him.

"Sorry about the giant bite marks. I got a little carried away." He didn't look sorry, not in the slightest, with his tiny smirk playing the corner of his lips.

"Ha! Don't be. I liked it." Her own smirk appeared, her blue eyes narrowed slyly.

"Woman, you could drive a man insane with talk like that." He tossed a damp rag at her and fled, leaving her to chuckle and wash up.

* * *

Two days later, Laurelin was relaxing in the sun, perched on the city wall outside Jorrvaskr, enjoying a quiet morning. The warmth of the day seeped into her bones and made her face glow softly with contentment. Her eyes were closed, pointed chin tilted up to the sky.

Thus she didn't see Vilkas stride out of the mead hall, unerringly swing her way. A large tray was balanced in his hands, piled with a selection of choice raw meats, wine and a bowl containing honey, still in the comb. Laure smelled the meat first, opened her eyes to see a softly smiling Vilkas standing before her. He set the tray on the wall beside her and scooted up to straddle the wall, facing the suddenly wary elf. _Although, one didn't usually gird oneself for battle with food_, she thought.

Vilkas poured them each a goblet of wine, and as he handed hers over the platter, he took a breath, beginning, "I'm an ass, sister. I know Farkas tried to explain, to make excuses for me, but it was a shitty thing, what I said the other night." He stopped, sipped his wine, and continued. "I shouldn't have taken my frustrations out on you two. I wasn't being rational, nor fair to two of the kindest people I have ever met. I humbly beg your forgiveness, shield-sister."

Laure sipped her wine, not wanting to look at him, but knowing it was needed. The wine was good, very good in fact. Not the usual sour swill flowing freely about. She savored what that meant as she gazed into Vilkas's earnest gray eyes.

"My forgiveness is granted, of course." She finally replied "However, I think you hurt your brother more than me."

Vilkas nodded. "We talked last night. Thinking up a battle plan or a pretty phrase may not be his strong points, but he understands-knows me and my shortcomings."

"Few that they are, I'm sure!" Laure smirked snagging up a sliver of raw venison, munching contently.

Vilkas smiled ironically and sampled a piece himself. "Needs salt." He observed.

* * *

The next week was busy and productive. By unspoken agreement, Laurelin and Farkas refrained from any further romantic explorations. The tension remained palpable to all in the mead hall, however. Instead, Laure trained with Farkas, and Vilkas when he could be convinced to leave his room. She hunted with Ria and Athis, sewed gaping holes in leather and cloth, spent hours with Eorland Gray-Mane making use of his endless smithing lore to improve her weapons and armor. In the mornings, she read on the balcony of Jorrvaskr if the weather was nice enough. She also became Thane of Whiterun, bought a tiny house, and gained a housecarl.

The title of Thane was mostly honorary, but it was nice to have a little leeway from the town guards if she needed it. The housecarl came with the title, and went by the name of Lydia.

Breezehome, the house she had purchased, was a cute, slightly rickety stone and timber cottage from the outside, but reasonably snug and dry inside, with a large, open fire-pit in the center of the main room. Lydia looked around when they first entered and shrugged. "Whatever gets me out of the barracks," she muttered. Lydia claimed the small room to the left at the top of the stairs, the door shutting behind her steel-clad form.

Not entirely sure what to make of Lydia, Laure left Breezehome to get her belongings from Jorrvaskr. Night was falling when she stepped in. Ria looked up from where she was sharpening her sword by the fire, a smile on her face. "Oh hey, there you are. Skjor was looking for you, I think he's out back."

Not sure why Skjor would be looking for her other than to assign her some task, Laure nodded and went back out. She had been expecting him to brusquely give her another chore and was surprised to find him smiling, leaning against the stone wall of the mead hall, gazing up at the cloudy sky. "Honor to you, shield-brother. It's a lovely evening, isn't it?" She admired the nimbus of light shining in rings around the first quarter moon.

"Aye. Well, it seems you are fitting around here. I'll admit I had my doubts-you could be sitting back on your status as Dragonborn-but it seems you have a truer spirit than that." He looked her over. "The wolf armor suits. Being a Companion suits you. Aela and the others have much good to say of your actions. I've noticed every time you come back to town you bring meat for the kitchens, providing for your siblings is an honorable action. Aela and I have a proposition for you to consider." He ushered her through a passage she hadn't ever noticed before into a hidden chamber under the Skyforge. It was dimly lit, unfurnished, but for large basin at the back of the small, roughly hewn room.

Looming over the font was a tall werewolf with ruddy fur. "I trust you recognize Aela even in her beast form? What we are offering you is what I heard you tell Kodlak you desired not so long ago. There are some drawbacks, but I think you are more than capable enough to handle them. And the benefits...they more than compensate you. Always armed, more alert, stronger, faster!" While Skjor spoke, Aela watched Laure with wolfish eyes. "Are you ready for this?"

Laure glanced to Aela one more time-her forebear if she accepted-who dipped her head into a bit of a nod. Looking up at Skjor with Aela looming behind, the little Bosmer nodded herself. "I'm ready." The excitement was already making her tremble slightly.

She had already spoken at length with Farkas about the blood, knew he would welcome her to their ranks if that was what she wanted. He rarely second guessed people in regards to their personal lives. They each lived their own life as they saw fit. Vilkas was a little tougher. He would respect her decision as well, she knew; but his own mixed feelings about the blood would color his reactions with her in the future. She suspected the blood was an outlet he needed, but regretted at the same time for some reason. Eventually he would need to come to terms with it or find a cure.

_Kodlak_. She could already almost taste his disapproval, which saddened her, yet didn't sway her in the slightest. Kodlak had a different path indeed. Where he had decided after the fact that he wanted to rest in Sovengard when he died, Laurelin had no such notion. Her soul was bound to Nocturnal. If Hircine accepted her as a devotee in this life, that was his business. The lady of shadows and Luck owned her contract with the afterlife. Her decision to take the beast blood had more to do with being a person who took every tool presented, and used it. Giving the Skeleton Key of Nocturnal back to her mistress had been difficult indeed. That had been a worthy tool, only reluctantly presented back to its rightful owner. Laurelin was beginning to feel as though she would need every advantage she could acquire in the future. Becoming a werewolf, while not strictly _logical_ was practical.

Skjor drew a sharp dagger and held Aela's shaggy, clawed hand, palm up. Softly he said, "If you truly mean to do this, I recommend you remove your armor or it will be ruined and cause you considerably more pain as you transform." Laure began struggling out of her boots and cuirasse. She heard a soft snarl as Skjor carefully cut into Aela's forearm. By the time Laure was stripped to her loincloth, there was a small pool of dark crimson blood in the basin. The sharp coppery tang assaulted her nose as without hesitation, she stepped up to the basin. Knowing without asking, Laurelin cupped her hand, dipped it into the steaming blood, lifted it to her lips and drank deeply.

"Do I have to finish it all? How...long...will?" The world went scarlet around Laurelin, then black as the Void, as the elf fell to the cold stone floor. Writhing in agony, she sobbed and growled on the floor, already deep into the first convulsions of her change.

Aela and Skjor watched with interest. None of them had ever heard of a werewolf-mer-Dragonborn before, and they wondered if the beast blood would even be effectual. Not realizing her lab-skeever status to the to others with her, Laurelin screamed, the sound powered by her unconscious Voice as her joints began snapping, realigning. The bones lengthened, muscles spasmed as they grew in mass, becoming stronger to support her massive new frame. Palest gold and white fur sprouted everywhere on her body.

When she finally turned from her side, where she had been whimpering for a few moments, Laure began to realize how strange and new this was. Carefully rolling to her feet, she looked herself over. She was taller-much taller-could feel the strength of this new body. Skjor looked up in approval at her shaggy new form, a broad smile on his face. She rolled her massive head back, licked her long white fangs. The tail was a distraction. Then came the smells. As never before, the scents of the world filtered in. She sniffed Skjor, learning his scent, then Aela. There was prey near, and the thought made Laurelin painfully hungry. She moved towards the door back into Whiterun, but Aela leaped in front, her eyes boring into Laurelin's. Without words, she understood, prey was not to be found out there in the city. _Of course_. Some of her thoughts seemed in her control, but others were simple instinct. Like the tail. Swishing maddeningly behind her..._perhaps if she bit it, it would stay still_.

"Out here Companion. Take care of her, love. Make sure she doesn't do anything too dangerous." Skjor gestured to a narrow secret passage through the walls of the city. Aela gave his ear a playful lick as she crouched to wedge herself out the small opening. Once out, she sniffed the air, waiting for the newest member of their circle to squeeze out, and she loped away, leading Laurelin out onto the tundra.

They kept low as they raced away from the walled city, out into the waiting night. When they were miles from the walls, Aela thumped Laurelin playfully with her shoulder and tore off at incredible speed. Laure pounded along after, delighting in the swiftness with which they traveled. Whiterun was far behind them, scents and sounds pulling the two wolves onward.

The powerful, musky smell of mammoth floated enticingly across Laurelin's snout, making her slaver and growl. The hunger! She had never experienced any this acute before. It went beyond the desire to simply eat, beyond thirst. She wanted to rip something into tatters, smell its last breath, hear the cries of pain fade away, then feast on its heart, crack the bones for the marrow. Swiveling her head back and forth, Laure soon pinpointed the direction the scent came from.

* * *

Aela, sniffing as well, caught the related scent of giant mixed with mammoth. Of course her newest pack mate would home in on a mammoth for her first kill as a wolf. No matter. Two werewolves were more than up to the challenge of one giant. She and Laurelin loped into the darkness, silently stalking their huge prey.

The giant fought back, viciously swinging its long bone club at the two smaller predators. As it would turn to face one of it's attackers, another would leap in behind, long teeth leaving jagged tears in the backs of its legs. Tiring quickly, the giant stumbled forward as the pale one leaped onto his back, claws tearing, muzzle buried into the flesh of its neck. Blood poured out of the gaping wounds as the darker one circled warily, avoiding the confused charges of the mammoth. Two huge hands rose up and tried to loosen the creature on its back, but it fell away, tearing out a wide chunk of its neck.

When the giant expired in a bloody steaming mound, Laure and Aela turned their attention to the true prey, growling eagerly. The mammoth was lingering near its shepherd, terrified by the scent of blood and wolf-creatures. Finally it turned to flee, but the wolves followed, hunger making their eyes gleam in the moonlight. Aela and Laurelin worked together in magnificent accord, worrying at the mammoth's heels, tiring it, enraging it into foolish attacks. When it finally fell with a sad trumpet, Laure lifted her head and howled in triumph. The werewolves gorged themselves on fresh, bloody meat, then licked each others faces clean.

Aela soon goaded them back into an easy run, heading east. As they ran, Laure howled again, joyfully, to have it echoed by her sister, and this was a good thing to her. Sometime before dawn, Aela dropped to a crouch on her haunches, tongue lolling out as she panted. They were in a copse of trees, not far from a fortress full of men. The stink of them invaded her sensitive nostrils, made her furious, wanted to slay them where they slept fearfully behind stone walls. Laurelin hunched down with her, similarly panting, tail wagging slowly behind.

The more experienced wolf could feel more of the new wolf's thoughts returning to a rational state. She rose and led her sister deeper into the trees, dropped to the ground, and rolled on her back, scratching an itch. Laure followed suit, writhing on the leaves with her tongue hanging out between her long teeth. The sisters snuggled together as dawn began lightening the darkness.

The change back hurt just as much as the initial transformation, and this time Laurelin wasn't spared by mercifully blacking out. She whimpered quietly as her jaw shrank back, joints again popped excruciatingly, and a maddening itch told her the fur was retreating. Aela held her the entire time, her own shift back silent and swift. Naked and groggy, Laure looked over her shoulder to the stunning redhead and smiled. "Thank you for everything sister!" and slumped into a fitful slumber.

* * *

Laurelin opened bleary eyes and squinted suspiciously out at the world. Bright afternoon sunshine dappled the forest floor where she was curled up in the mulch. Birds sang brightly overhead, painfully loud to her very sensitive ears. Gods! Her head! She would hunt down and kill the offending birds, but later.

"So, you're awake." Aela's clear voice called up the hill to Laurelin as she strode up. Somehow Aela was in her armor, armed and alert. "Here, I brought you some water, I thought you might be thirsty." The pale elf nodded, sipped from the skin carefully at first, then drained it with a contented sigh. The headache was already retreating.

Questions buzzed like bees in her mind. Thankfully, Aela seemed to understand and was willing to answer them all. The two women chatted for a few minutes, Aela claiming the dainty elf had given them more trouble than Farkas on his first change.

"You're jesting, aye?" Laure asked.

"No, not at all. You don't remember going after the mammoth?"

"Nooo..." a pause. "Maybe?"

"Or the giant before the mammoth?" Aela smiled in amusement.

"Really? No, I don't recall that either. Should I be able to?"

"Yours was a difficult transformation, and the first time is always so—intense." Aela's eyes were far away, perhaps remembering her own first time. "At any rate, I suspect you were so deep in your hunter's instinct that recalling details will be tough, at first. It becomes less painful, easier to control after a while, don't worry." The lovely human lifted a pack that Laure recognized. "Compliments of Skjor. You should get dressed; we have a little celebration planned for you. Skjor has gone ahead to scout, and we'll meet up with him soon."

The celebration turned out to be going into a place called Gallows Rock to hunt down a ruthless band of werewolf slayers called the Silver Hand. The inside of the lair was tastefully adorned with severed werewolf heads, tortured wolves dangling from manacles set into the walls, bloody racks and bloody tools. A deep rage built in her stomach as she and Aela quietly slaughtered their way through the dark passages.

To hunt was one thing; to kill in self defense another. But to take such obvious xenophobia to these cruel levels was plain wrong. Laurelin knew now why Skjor and Aela had brought her here. To see, to experience first hand the terror these fearful people would inflict on her and her siblings given a chance. Laure had no intention of giving them that chance.

Aela sniffed carefully at a closed door before them, frowning. "Their leader is through here. Don't let him close with you; I understand he is deadly and cunning. You saw some of his work on our way here. They call him 'Skinner'." Laure quietly suggested a rough strategy, which Aela agreed they could try. No battle plan ever withstood first contact with the enemy. This was widely known.

No one seemed to notice when the door quietly opened. Several forms were visible in the gloom, so Laure and Aela each gestured, selecting a target, taking aim. Using a bow in confined quarters was dangerous, but these two women knew what they were about, Aela crouching before Laurelin. Aela released her shaft, dropping a man working at a tanning rack near the door, Laure's shot took out a man further back in the chamber. Each had a second arrow readied before their first targets hit the floor. The remaining Silver Hands boiled out of hidden corners, one racing across Aela's path on his way to check his fallen comrade. Her second arrow flew straight, plunging into the mans armpit, buried halfway to the fletching. He collapsed with a strangled sob, scarlet blood pooling under his twitching form.

Aela calmly shouldered her bow, drawing sword and shield while she stepped back into the shadows. Laurelin backed down the short hallway as a heavily armored figure strode from behind a pillar. She held her breath while she looked for weaknesses, but heavy plate was sure to ward off all but the most accurate shot. She settled for what she could take at that instant, was rewarded by seeing her shaft sink deep into the crease just below his shoulder. Still he advanced, swinging a greatsword in short controlled arcs.

Krev the Skinner saw a pale archer standing at the end of the hallway and charged. He didn't even try to dodge the last arrow flying his way, it clattered off his steel gorget anyway. The elf was dropping her bow, snatching out steel, but she'd never get it out in time. He raised his greatsword, ready to drive it through her weak body, or if he could, simply cleave her in two.

Laure waited until he was only three running paces away, entering the hall, and summoned her Thu'um. "**Fus Ro**!" she shouted gleefully. Krev was flung high, smashed into the ceiling and then crashed to the floor, stunned. Aela melted back out of the shadows in an instant, and the two shield sisters dispatched Krev while he tried to regain his footing. They nodded to each other in satisfaction, then moved into the chamber, where they mercifully finished the burbling, sobbing Silver Hand still bleeding out on the floor. That part went much as planned.

Suddenly Aela was yelling, as she leaped over piles of tumbled stone. "No! No, no, no!" she raged and dropped down by an eviscerated corpse, weeping. Skjor lay torn open upon the cold stones, his armor cut away and discarded in a pool of tacky, sticky blood. Aela ranted through furious tears at his dead body as she ran her fingers over his cheek.

Laurelin was stunned. Skjor had been a skilled fighter, not prone to recklessness, a brave and clever man. Though she had never been able to get to know him, she felt sorrow. It was a terrible jest of the gods to let him be slain this way, alone, without help, in terror. If a canny hunter like Skjor could be slain like this, were they not all vulnerable?

Turning to comfort Aela, she found the lovely red haired woman breathing hard, gulping back tears. "Go, you must tell the others, I will stay, take care of him, and kill any others that we missed."

"Is that a good idea, I think I should stay with you-"

"Go!"

Laure nodded, swiftly taking a few small items of value as she left out a back door she discovered. The anger and sorrow boiled away in her heart, making her stomach ache. As she wound her dazed way through the back passage, she came upon a Silver Hand they had missed somehow. He was sitting with his back to her as she slipped through the door, muttering to himself. Rage boiled up from her churning gut as she listened to him grumble about a lying woman and a brat that wasn't his. Knowing she would never leave a live enemy behind her, between her sister weeping not far from here and the way out, she silently slipped her dagger from its sheathe, slipped up behind him in one moment. She pushed his head down, dropping his chin near his chest as her blade smoothly punctured his throat. The man slumped to the table top in a spreading pool of blood. Laure wiped her blade, looted the man's pockets and stalked away. A tiny bit of her new blood thirst had been slaked.

When she finally stepped outside, night had arrived again. She stumbled to a halt not far from the gates, knelt in the grass, sobbing. Bile, sour and burning, rose in her throat, and Laure didn't try to resist. Leaning over, she vomited blood, curdled and black onto the ground before her.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven-Of Mourning and Mead**

When her thoughts finally cleared, Laurelin was already nearly back to Whiterun, eating up the miles in a series of sprint-jog-sprint-jogs. Her pace brought her too soon to the secret back way into the Underforge.

As she had approached the city, other presences-for lack of a better word-began to chime in her mind. Loudest was Vilkas, with his rage and pain. There was Farkas, steady and true. Then there was Kodlak, anxiety and wisdom churning together fitfully. Briefly she wondered what she felt like in their minds. Not that she would ever ask.

Laurelin stepped out of the Underforge, painfully aware of blisters where the sweat and blood she was covered in had rubbed her raw under her armor. She strode without hesitation to Kodlak's chambers to give him the bad news. They shared a tankard of mead in his honor, Farkas and Vilkas joining them. Each related a memory or two of the man they had fought back to back with on more than one occasion. It was then that she came to realize how respected Skjor had been by these men, what a loss they now suffered.

She got good and drunk from all the toasts given to his memory, and though she didn't have many experiences with him to share, she sang a haunting song of grieving that left the three men quietly, tearfully smiling. Laure vaguely remembered later begging her shield-brothers' forgiveness, which they all assured her was not needed.

Kodlak smiled his kind smile over at her. "Skjor made his choices; he was a grown man and called no man master. He chose to enter that hideout without a shield-brother or sister, knowing the danger. _You_, Laurelin Vo'Shai, are not to blame."

"But if Aela hadn't been wiping the drool off my chin-" Laure wailed plaintively and was interrupted by Vilkas, who clamped a gentle hand onto her shoulder.

"He still would have already gone in alone and been slain, and likely Aela would have too. You are not responsible for his actions; don't seek to carry this burden. Doing so will not make you stronger, nor bring our brother back to us. It would fracture your spirit to do so, make the beast blood you now carry ever more a trial." Vilkas soon excused himself for the evening, seeking quiet contemplation in his room.

Laure followed shortly, leaving Kodlak to find what rest he could, her mind in a tumult. She was weary beyond words, hungry, filthy and underneath it all painfully horny. She looked down the hall toward the doors. She had a house in town now, she didn't _need_ to sleep on the cot down the hall, but she didn't particularly want to walk all the way through town either. What she wanted and what she needed just weren't quite matching up in her sluggish thoughts.

* * *

Farkas stood behind her and let the scent of her fill his nostrils. He could detect her sorrow, the blood on her armor, sweat, desire, confusion all in one heady aroma. Then he noticed something surprising. "Hey you know what? I think you're taller!" he exclaimed.

So out of the blue was this observation, Laurelin had to laugh, until turning around, she realized he was right. Where before she had barely reached his chest, she could now-if she wanted to—kiss his chin without going up on tiptoe.

He stood up straight and measured the top of her head. "Interesting! I bet your bones didn't shrink all the way back down like they should have. Were you awake when you changed back?"

"Well, sort of...I really did just want the pain to stop, could I have inadvertently prevented myself from going back to my normal size?"

"Probably, come here." He scooped her up experimentally. "Yup. Heavier too!"

"Thank you, sweetness." Laure dryly replied.

"Heavier doesn't actually mean you weigh a lot. I could still carry you on one arm across Skyrim," he proclaimed. Setting her feet back on the ground, he draped a burly arm over her shoulder. "Look, I think I know what you need." He steered her towards his room, where she (somewhat) reluctantly allowed herself to be guided. As he gently pushed her toward his bed, she tried to turn back, but he caught her wrists and looked down at her smiling."It's not like that," he said softly.

Laure realized that although she could smell his desire—that made her knees tremble slightly- it wasn't driving him right now. She relented, let him lay her back on the bed, where he thoughtfully tucked a few pillows behind her, propping her up cozily. He then dropped to his knees on the floor and began tugging off her boots.

"Farkas! What are you doing? No! Dammit, I stink. I need a bath!" She pleaded and he smiled, ignoring her cries as he pulled her footwear off. Then he sat her up, helped unbuckle the bloody armor that until recently had fit her so well. No wonder she was rubbed raw in places. He let the armor fall to the floor at the foot of the bed, while Laure sat shivering in her damp armor padding. Soon that was on the floor as well. Farkas hopped back to his feet, rummaged through his dresser, found a clean tunic, and dropped it into her lap. He poured water in a basin, and helped her wash up, wringing out the dirty rags, offering clean back to her. While she gave herself a poor mans bath, he poured them both a drink, waiting politely with his back turned as she slipped his shirt over her head.

"Wow that feels better already, thank you!"

"Sure, I'm here to help. Now lay back down." He pressed a cup to her hands and nudged her back onto the bed.

"Will Vilkas-" she began.

"He'll be fine. He was going through an especially hard time last week. It always was harder for him to deny the blood." He pushed her back against the pillows as he spoke, seizing one foot in both his meaty hands. He pulled each toe out, rolling the pads between his fingers, used his thumbs to knead the arch of her foot, gently rotated the ankle. Laure couldn't help but groan with pleasure. When her whole foot had been massaged, he moved to the other. They tingled coolly when he was done, and she wiggled her toes happily into the furs.

"Maybe he should just hunt. He plainly isn't faring well; I'm sure Kodlak would understand."

"Kodlak would understand, aye. _Vilkas_ wouldn't forgive himself for what he saw as weakness so quickly. He has his reasons for what he does, as I have mine." He set his cup on the floor after draining it, standing up to begin shrugging out of his own armor.

* * *

He really was delectable she decided. Every muscle was toned and sculpted to perfection, not to mention he was surprisingly graceful for such a brawny man. He stretched a moment, knowing her eyes were riveted to him admiringly, then dropped a shirt over his head. Where Laure had trouble keeping the borrowed tunic on her shoulders, his stretched taught over his chest.

Lightly he slid onto the narrow bed with her, promptly flipping her over on her left side so her back was to his chest. His powerful thumbs and fingers then probed her back and neck, pulling, kneading, drawing out all the tension there, until at last she passed out in a limp bundle. Snuggled tightly against a werewolf's warm chest, his breath soft in her ear.

She woke with a start, out-of-place scents filling her nostrils, dreams of torn flesh and cracking bones clouding her thoughts. Still emotionally drained, Laure moved to push herself up but was restrained by a heavy arm over her waist. Farkas mumbled something in his sleep, nuzzled her neck, squeezed her closer. She relaxed back in his embrace, let her eyes drift shut again.

She woke again later with a smile on her lips, looking up into his gray eyes. "That is so creepy, brother!" she murmured when she realized he had been watching her sleep.

"You were talking to someone, you know. Moaning, too." His dark hair fell forward, tickling her cheek as he leaned over, nose to nose with her. "Who is this 'Bryn' you were gasping for?" He smiled wickedly.

"I was not gasping!" Laure cried hotly.

"But you were! And grinding against me in a most...interesting manner. Wake a man like that and you're likely to be ravished where you are." Still grinning down at her, he growled softly. "Lucky for you, I remembered you think I'm a gentleman." His arms tightened around her, pulling her tight against his body, where she could feel every hard muscle searing her backside. His lips roamed the back of her neck, his scent powerful, filling her head, making it spin. Sometime later, Laure flung back the furs and rolled over Farkas, tumbling to the floor with her chest heaving, biting her lip.

His breath was coming in gasps as his eyes blazed in the dimness. "Argh, woman," he groaned "come back to bed! I wasn't finished with you!"

Running a hand through her tangled hair, she smiled, saying " Farkas I would, truly. Now just doesn't seem appropriate."

His brow furrowed. "When would be 'appropriate' then? I thought you weren't going to play games?"

"I'm not sure, honestly. My heart just tells me this isn't it yet." He understood the 'yet' part well enough, and smiled back at her finally.

"Okay, I get it." He rolled onto his back and hurled a pillow her way, which she snagged and used to cushion her head on the floor. "Though how a man is supposed to stay calm when you smell like that..."

"Like what exactly?" She sniffed her shoulder curiously, but didn't notice anything out of the ordinary.

"I dunno. Like flowers, and warm sunny days I guess. And vanilla...mmmm...vanilla!" His teeth bit hungrily into a pillow.

"I see, I think. You need to get some food into your belly, brother. That cushion will never serve."

He leaped from bed and struggled into a pair of breeches, not bothering to tie them. "C'mon, I think one of the girls probably has some spare clothes that don't reek of sweaty mer," he teased. Laure sprang onto his back as he turned away and rode him pig-a-back style down the hall.

* * *

As it turned out, she had never finished moving all of her belongings to Breezehome, so she was able to put her own clothes on after all. Laure could hear Aela quietly sobbing in her room from the dorms. Apparently she had come in during the night, closed herself up in her room without a word to anyone.

The breakfast table was subdued, each of the Companions trying to cope with the loss of Skjor in their own way. Conversations would begin and trickle sadly away, over and over. Laurelin and Farkas eventually went out to the practice yard, intending to bash a few of their collective frustrations out with sword and shield.

Vilkas was reading at the table when they emerged. He glanced up, smiled briefly at them before returning his attention to the tome before him. Laure wasn't sure but she thought she detected a trace of amused approval in his mind. _Does he approve of Farkas and I not making love_? She wondered to herself. She looked to Farkas as they went by, raised an eyebrow at him. He rolled his eyes and shrugged. _Eh, no matter_.

Hefting blunt practice swords, she and the big man began sparring, every once in a while breaking apart to discuss tactics and techniques. Their easy camaraderie seemed to spill over to Vilkas, who joined them while they were debating ways to deal with uneven ground during battle. Laurelin favored bounding up rocks and walls, firing arrow after arrow at the enemy from above, well out of reach. The twins clearly thought little of such trickery, favoring meeting foes head on, blade to blade.

The sun was high in the sky when Laure and Farkas sank back on their haunches and ate some leftover cold rabbit. "How come I never see you eat vegetables, Laure?" he wondered aloud. "I never see you eat any fruit either. I thought elves revere animals or something. But that's all you ever eat!"

"Traditionally, Bosmer are strictly carnivorous. In our homeland, we avoid eating anything that comes from plants or trees, which _are_ sacred to us. Bosmer coming to, say, Skyrim may choose to eat plants or cut down trees, but at home we don't do such things. I guess I never picked up a taste for vegetables or fruits."

"You get more and more weird every day." He meant it as a compliment, so Laure took his comments in stride.

"I heard you went after a giant camp the other night-with Aela." Vilkas ventured as he warmed up with his two-handed blade.

"Aye, though I only remember, ah, eating mostly. That whole night is all a jumble." She knew Vilkas didn't really approve of her becoming a werewolf, but knew it was her choice, her burden to bear if it became so. Instead, he kept his remarks light, offering advice, trying not to judge. Which was unusual in her experience with Vilkas.

"Did you learn any more words of your Thu'um while you were up at High Hrothgar?" he asked during a pause.

"Actually I did! Watch this!" She breathed deep, summoning her Voice from within, then shouted, "**Wuld**!" Her body raced forward in a rush that was both frightening and exhilarating at the same time. She walked back over to the broadly grinning brothers.

"Neat!" rumbled Farkas, "How often can you do that?"

Laure shrugged. "It takes a few moments before I can use it again, but I think it could be useful avoiding traps and getting out of crowded battle scenarios." She glanced from the back doors of Jorrvaskr to the two smiling brothers and came to a decision. "Let's get a change of scenery for a while, shall we? My treat." Draping a slender arm up over each of the brothers' shoulders, she led them around front and down the stairs into town. They followed willingly enough into the Bannered Mare, where, true to her word, she treated the twins to hot venison stew, savory pies and warm mulled wine to wash it down.

Late afternoon became evening; evening became night. Still the Companions drank and ate. At one point, Laure was accidentally shoved by another customer directly onto the lap of an imposing Nord woman she had seen in town but never spoken to. The tipsy elf giggled and apologized, but the woman was not amused.

"Filthy. I see the Companions will accept anyone now. Typical." The woman grunted and shoved Laure off her lap with a sneer. Muttering to herself, the woman turned back to her mug, "Milk-drinking mer, stinking the place up..."

"Say it again, Uthgerd." Farkas quietly menaced from behind her. Vilkas gave Laure a hand up. She wobbled for a moment then sobered quickly when she saw Uthgerd rise to face Farkas.

"You heard me. I said, 'milk drinker'. Care to make a wager? One hundred septims says I can knock a few of her pretty teeth out her ass."

"She's drunk, you idiot. That isn't a fair wager."

"No no, Farkas is-it's okay. One hundred septims it is." Laure moved to pull away from Vilkas's support, but he pulled her back.

"Are you sure you want to do this? You've had a bit to drink, and she's mean. Makes most all her coin this way, actually." His silver-gray eyes searched hers, looking for any trace of sobriety. He wasn't reassured as she giggled again, leaned over and kissed his nose.

"Yup. Am I not the Dragonborn?" Her pointed chin lifted, slightly.

"You can't use your Thu'um in here, you'll get us all thrown out."

"Fine. No Thu'um. Can I heat up her armor a bit with some magic?"

"Definitely not. Fists, Laurelin, that's all."

"Where's the fun in that? We should do it naked then!" Her wide, pale eyes sparkled with mischief, while Vilkas struggled to find anything to say in response.

"Are you going to cuddle over there all night or are you going to come here and let me kick your ass?" Uthgerd called impatiently. Farkas was clutching his sides, tears of laughter rolling down his face. Apparently, he had no problem hearing the hushed conversation between the Bosmer and his twin.

"Just hit her hard, until she yields. Try not to hit any of the other patrons while you're at it. Hulda doesn't like the innocent bystanders to get hurt."

"I'll try to make it quick. She's making my drink get cold." Laure straightened up, and suddenly she didn't look so drunk or silly any more. Or small. Divines, she _had_ grown taller.

"About time." Uthgerd came at Laure, swinging. Laure, long used to being the smallest combatant in a fight, knew about avoiding bigger people in a brawl. Bryn had insisted she also learn some unarmed combat techniques. She held perfectly still, focusing, waiting for the right moment. When the reddish-blonde woman was over-extended, fully committed, Laure spun to the side and batted away the fists coming at her, one hand wrapping around Uthgerd's forearm, pivoted from the hips, and swung the woman straight into a wooden support pillar, using the bigger woman's own motion to power it. Smiling happily, Laure kicked the Nord's knees, making her sag against the post weakly. Laure hopped over a fallen chair to get in front, and with two sharp jabs to the faltering woman's nose, broke it with a snap. Uthgerd shrieked and crumbled to the planks, blood dribbling down her nose.

"I'll waive the hundred septims if you apologize for calling me a milk drinker."

Uthgerd glared over the fingers pressed to her face, reached into her boot and withdrew a purse, let it drop to the floor, as she scrambled up. The bard Mikael helped her out the door. Laurelin shrugged, used a toe to roll the purse up on her other boot and lifted her knee swiftly up and across her body, which popped the purse straight into her hand.

"So, next round's on her!" The inn shook with yells of approval as Laure called for a cask of Hulda's best mead to be broached. Laurelin finished her drink, then Uthgerd's unfinished cup, while the innkeeper lined the bar with brimming mugs of golden mead. Vilkas and Farkas watched in amusement as the lovely elf they were accompanying climbed onto a small table, balancing precariously. Several of the male patrons were whistling appreciatively as she bowed gracefully, mug in hand. "Tonight, I, we, all drink to a fallen brother. He was brave, honorable, and looked after his family. I wish I had more words to share about him, but I was robbed of the chance to get to know him better. Please, drink with me in honor of Skjor of the Companions. My shield-brother." Raised mugs were tipped back, Laure drained her own, then howled, low and mournful to the rafters. More howls broke out after that, but soon the normal conversations began again, Mikael returned from escorting Uthgerd back to her home, and Laurelin dropped down into Farkas' arms, giggling again.

"That was sweet." He murmured in her ear. She grinned and kissed him on the cheek.

"Very sweet, aye." muttered Vilkas. "Although the howling at the end was a little—telling."

* * *

Vilkas and Farkas discovered that Laurelin cheerfully drunk was a _singing_ Laurelin. She had a lovely voice, but at moonset, the guards were—understandably-dissatisfied with the Bosmer perched in the bare branches of the Gildergreen, singing what she called "Awakening the Light Within the Dark Heart". Whatever it was, it was awakening a large part of the district and not the poor tree. The twins were standing underneath, arms folded, waiting for her to be done. Apparently she had taken it into her head to try and awaken the tree in reaction to Skjor's death. Unable to prevent her from scrambling into the tree in the first place, they hoped she would come down soon.

Farkas leaned over to his brother, quietly muttering, "Bit of a fuss about a dead tree."

Laure dropped easily down from above them at that moment, absorbing the impact with bent knees. "It just so happens it's only _mostly_ dead. There's a big difference." She whistled a few bars of another song, looped her arms through theirs and led them past the irate guards, back up the steps to Jorrvaskr, only stumbling a little bit. "I think I can help it."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve- Prayers Answered**

The next morning, Laurelin carefully walked down the steps, circled the tree she had serenaded earlier, and seated herself next to the woman sitting on the bench there. The woman, Whiterun's priestess of Kynareth, had her head tipped up, a sad, searching look on her careworn face as she scanned the branches. "It's a shame, isn't it? I come out here, and I pray to Kynareth for the Gildergreen to breathe again, to grow green and bloom once more. Every day I hope to see the swell of a leaf bud pushing into the light. Every day-" she shuddered to a halt.

Memory spoke softly through Laurelin's lips. "I remember people used to come and pray to the Goddess of Winds when she bloomed. I remember the way the light would sparkle and dance when the leaves shook in the breeze. There is always a breeze here in the Winds, aye, Danica Pure-Spring?" Laure turned her gaze up, and such was her memory that she could almost see an overlay of leaves and blooms hanging overhead. "I would like to help restore her to herself. I have a few ideas, but I thought I should consult with you first."

Danica was naturally delighted. She detailed her belief that sap from the Eldergleam, the Gildergreen's parent tree, might perhaps revive the husk to it's previous glory. She then revealed the location of the only weapon cursed enough to harm the Eldergleam tree, Nettlebane. Nothing else could damage the sacred tree enough to draw forth the sap.

"You would go to Orphan Rock and retrieve Nettlebane for me? That would be wonderful! Please be safe, and the blessings of Kynareth upon you." Danica stood, smoothing the brown robes she wore, and moved into the temple, where she was needed to heal the illnesses and wounds of the people she cared for.

Laure sat on the bench a moment longer, listening to the sounds of the day. Heimskr enthusiastically preached the word of Talos, as he did every day. Calls of merchants floated up from the Plains district, and the metallic clang of hammer on hot steel resounded all about-Eorland at his forge. She stared absently at the cuffs of her leggings. Everything she had to wear was too small now, but she liked being taller. Maybe at some point she might try to shrink herself back to her original size. Right now the novelty of not needing a stool to see over the bars of some inns when ordering a drink was too refreshing.

Finally, Laure arose and trotted back up to Jorrvaskr. Eventually she would get all her clothing and gear moved into Breezehome, but not today. She figured it might take her a day or so to travel south around the Throat to Orphan Rock, retrieve this blade, then a day back. Easily done.

She could hear Farkas out back, training with Torvar and Njada. As much as she wanted to run around and jump on him, she went through the front doors and downstairs. She slid into some simple leather armor she had picked up, hoping Eorland would be finished modifying her wolf armor soon. Her Nightingale blade went to her waist and bow over her shoulder. A few items she needed went into her pack, then she twitched the furs into a semblance of order and picked up a book she had borrowed from Vilkas. She would return this to him and be off.

Laure skipped lightly down to the twins' rooms, book in hand. Vilkas's door was shut but not latched, so she tapped lightly as pushed it open. "Vilkas, I brought back this—oh, sorry." She stopped, for Vilkas was just wrapping a small towel around his narrow, bare hips. She didn't even try to stop her interested gaze as he turned to face her, a small smile twitching up the corner of his lips.

He was incredibly lean, muscles corded tightly around his body. His broad shoulders and chest tapered to his slender waist, dark curls of hair drew her eye inevitably down for a moment, then back up. He was smirking at her, she standing there like a maiden, cheeks pink suddenly, book forgotten in her hand.

"You can just set in on the table there." Laure swallowed, and set the book down, saying nothing. "Well, you're a talkative one aren't you?" he teased lightly. He stood there, damp from his bath, hand gripping the towel. "Was there something else I could do for you?" His gray eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Ah, no. I just wanted to return your book; thank you for lending it to me. I'm heading out to Orphan Rock for Danica, I'll be back in a few days." She shifted her gaze from the interesting hollow where his hip curved down under the towel and met his gaze, a small smile of her own playing across her lips. "Hope to see more of you when I return!" With that she whirled away, chuckling softly.

"Oh, there's more to see, should you desire." Came his loaded reply from the door.

* * *

Orphan Rock was not a pretty place. Oh sure, the scenery was still pleasant enough, but the stink of a certain taint lingered on every blade of grass and breeze. Some places just felt wrong to Laurelin, and this was one of them. Heavy, gray clouds hung overhead, promising a good soaking. Laure used her senses to fullest advantage, sniffing the location of the four hags lurking around the pillar of stone. From high up, Laure sighted down her shaft, the point of her arrow leading in front of her target, watching the steps; the pattern followed. The hag she was shadowing came to a stop, turned her back to look out into the trees. Peripherally, Laure was aware of scents and sounds around her, but her focus was on stripping away the distractions all about, bringing the heart of her target to the point of her arrow. She exhaled, her fingers loosened around the bowstring at her ear, a soft twang of the string and her target crumpled to the ground. A second body followed immediately, a few yards away, taken swiftly by her next shot.

She dropped back down into a hunch behind a tumble of boulders and scrambled quietly away as the first few droplets of rain pattered down. Two down, three to go. She notched another shaft as she crept through the trees, circling higher in the valley to the west hillside. Her sharp ears brought her the outraged cries of two of the remaining witches. Smoothly, the Bosmer shot the cone of a fir tree from where it hung. The hags rushed to investigate the noise, hands glowing menacingly with magics. Laure was able to drop one to her knees with one shot before the remaining witch swung about and began hurling bolts of fire. Laurelin was already on the move, ducking behind a tree, shouldering her bow. As she moved to another tree, she drew her sword and dagger, spun around the trunk and shouted "**Wuld**!"

The witch had enough time to scream a strangled "What?" Before Laurelin raced by, stabbing cleanly into her opponent's throat, moving far too swiftly to be blocked. The pale-haired mer sprang to the other injured witch, who was just gaining her feet, and quietly opened her throat. Four down...

Laure zig-zagged her way up the hillside, doing her best to dodge the fireballs now pelting down on her from the top of Orphan Rock. It took several moments of frantic dodging as she wove her way up the hillside. She tucked her dagger away and enacted a simple ward spell as she slid carefully over the fallen tree that served as a bridge. She could still feel the heat and impact of the fireballs as two smashed into her ward, but now she was over the makeshift bridge, closing with a gaunt, snarling hagraven. Her next shout of, "**Fus Ro**!" stunned the hagraven to its knees, which was just where Laurelin wanted it. Her dagger punched into its side and back out, just under the left armpit; her sword cut across horizontally, neatly cleaving the creature's head from her scrawny neck.

A growl of triumph rolled from her throat—usually she wasn't able to make it out of a fight like this without at least some injury, but she had planned ahead well-and she bent to search for the weapon she sought. She didn't find it anywhere on or near the hagraven, so she looked around. There was an enchanting table to one side of a lean-to, a few tree stumps, and little else. She found a large, locked chest in the hagraven's little lean-to but couldn't find a key.

Searching through her pack, the elf found a total of three lockpicks. "Fuck me sideways, some thief I am. Okay, Lady Nocturnal, guide my hand, please. Three picks, one for each of your Trinity. It would keep me from other business if I have to lug this whole chest all the way back to town." Pushing the hair from her eyes, Laure focused on listening and feeling the lock. Whether it was a cheap lock to begin with or her mistress was smiling on her today she wasn't sure, but the locked clicked open within seconds. "Ha! Thank you, Lady."

Laure furrowed her brow as she looked inside the chest. A few scattered coins, a pair of battered steel gauntlets, and a blue potion bottle were all that were inside. Where was the weapon? Laure sniffed around, and she could tell it had been stored in this chest; the sense of it was near. Outside the tent, she searched around, but it was nowhere on the hag, not on the ground. She finally found it down at the base of the rock pillar, where it had been hurled by the power of her Thu'um. She tucked the primitive blade into her pack, unable to help a wrinkle of her nose. Its pocked surface stank of dead spriggan. Laure then lugged everything the hags had into a pile and gave the afternoon one last taste of her voice as she set it on fire. "**Yol**!" The pale Bosmer warmed her hands by the flames, ignoring the stench of burning witches and hagraven. When the blaze had died down, so had the rain. Laure walked away from the ash pile after gathering up her pack and the meager items looted here. She moved swiftly down the trail, heading back around the ruins of Helgen, alert for danger as she trotted away.

* * *

Laure traveled the rest of the afternoon, arriving in Whiterun before moonrise. Deciding to get some rest and take Nettlebane to Danica in the morning, Laure stepped gratefully into the warmth of Breezehome and leaned against the door with a tired sigh. Lydia came down the stairs, fingers peeling apart a sweet roll.

"Honor to you, my Thane," said Lydia brightly around her pastry. "Is there anything you need?"

"A bath and man for my bed sound nice around now. I guess I'll settle for a bath and something hot to drink." Laure dropped into a chair and stretched her feet toward the fire, while Lydia rolled the small, wooden wash tub by the fire. _Aye, a bath and a man_...Farkas would come running, she knew, but something still stalled her from making the final move with him. Brynjolf's face smirked at her from the shadows of her mind, seeming to ask why she truly refrained. _Why indeed_? She kicked her boots off, waiting for the water to heat up. Maybe a good soak would take some of the tension away, but she didn't try to fool herself. She was either going back to Riften soon to have her way with Bryn, or she was going to end up in bed with a werewolf. At this point she didn't care which one.

The next morning was cold and rainy, soaking Laurelin's hair and shoulders as she splashed through town on her way to the temple of Kynareth. She stopped at Belethor's general goods store, selected a pair of boots, a few items of clothing that fit better, and every lockpick he had in stock-a grand total of four. Belethor was as disgustingly oily as ever. When she finally shoved her way through his door, she felt like rolling around in the mud-it would be cleaner than she felt after dealing with him.

Danica greeted the Bosmer with a relieved smile. "You made it! Honestly I wasn't sure if I had sent you to your doom! The Goddess must have smiled down on you to make it all the way there and back so swiftly. But my apologies. Did you retrieve Nettlebane?" Her eyes were wide, excitement thickening her accent even more. Laure held out doeskin-wrapped bundle she carried.

Danica stepped back, a look of revulsion on her face. "I don't actually want to touch that foul thing, if you don't mind." She looked down embarrassed, then back up to meet the Bosmer's pale eyes. "I have a further request of you, child. Could I send you to retrieve the sap from the Eldergleam? I'm afraid I can ill afford to be gone from my duties here at the temple; there are so many sick and injured to care for..."

Laure smiled, wrapping Nettlebane back up, sliding it under her arm. "It would be my honor to assist you. I'll leave today." At that moment a man sidled up next to Laurelin, plucking at her sleeve for attention.

"Did I hear you say you were going to the Eldergleam Sanctuary? If it isn't too much trouble, may I join you? Two may journey more safely than one in these dangerous times."

Laure eyed the brown-haired Breton. "Who might you be, then?"

"My name is Maurice Jondrelle, I am a pilgrim, following the the voice of Kynareth where ever it leads me. I could help protect you on the road, my lady."

"You're not from around here, that's for sure. Fine, gather your things and meet me here in an hour." She stepped out and jogged up to Jorrvaskr. Sniffing, she caught no recent scent of Farkas. He was not inside, nor outside. Vilkas stood by the fire inside though, wearing long, soft, buckskin trousers and a snug linen tunic, reading a thick book in the flickering light. "Too cold and wet for you, brother?" She asked with a grin. He looked good enough to eat just now, with his hair falling into his face a little, feet bare, no warpaint. Laure tried to haul in those thoughts before Vilkas caught on.

Vilkas looked up, thumb holding his place in the tome. "It's drier in here, less damage to valuable books than out there. How fares your day, sister?"

"Wet. Is Farkas out? I was wondering if he wanted to go with me to Eldergleam Sanctuary on an errand for Danica."

" He took a job to rescue a woman abducted by the Forsworn; I imagine it will take him a few days at the least to make it back here as he only left yesterday afternoon. Would you like some company?"

"I would love it. Seems I'm escorting a pilgrim as well. Another sword and pair of eyes would be welcome. When can you be ready?"

"I'll be up in a few moments. I'll let Kodlak know where we are heading as well." He turned away, setting the book on the table behind him. Laure warmed her hands, then leaned over to see what he had been reading. She was expecting a treatise on some heroic Nord warrior of old, or something along those lines. So she was surprised and a little amused to discover he had been reading a collection of Third Era Cyrodillic poetry. It was a collection Laurelin had not read, so she thumbed through it while she waited, noting the worn pages, some dogeared down. She wondered if these were favored passages of her shield-brothers. Soon he was clattering up the steps, in armor once again. Fresh paint glistened around his eyes.

"Oh sure, make me feel bad for not putting mine on!" she sniped playfully.

"Makes me prettier." His smile showed an interesting amount of teeth.

"Aww, Vilkas! You don't need makeup to be pretty!" She swung around, gestured to the door. "Shall we?"

Vilkas gave her behind a playful slap. "Age before beauty." Chortling, Laure shoved through the doors. The two Companions stopped at the temple long enough to collect the pilgrim Maurice, then once more at Breezehome to get Laurelin's pack.

"Lydia, hold the fort! I'll be back in a few days." She called up to her room where she knew her housecarl liked to sit.

"Do you want company, my Thane?"

"I have plenty, thanks. If you need anything, there is a bag of gold in the small kettle. Get yourself something pretty if you want."

"I don't need anything pretty! I did see a shield Adrienne has next door, though."

"Fine, get a pretty shield. Keep it under a thousand if you can." Vilkas snorted behind her, but other than that waited quietly. "See you soon, Lydia."

"Safe journey, my Thane."

* * *

Laurelin, Vilkas and Maurice picked their way carefully down the long, sloping passage into the Eldergleam Sanctuary. When they finally emerged into the large cavern, all three slid to a complete stop. Laure felt a peculiar singing in her heart as she gazed in wonder at the magnificent Eldergleam tree that dominated the cave.

"By Ysmr, that's impressive!" exclaimed Vilkas, his eyes gleaming in the pink-tinted light. Maurice moved on, drawn forward deeper along the path winding around the edge of the limestone cavern, muttering softly in wonder. Laurelin and Vilkas stood drinking in the peace of the place. Everything smelled like a fresh spring breeze laden with blossom and nectar. Birds wheeled in and out of the shafts above leading into daylight, crying out strident, sweet songs. Water falling over stones thrummed quietly in the background. Breathing in the clean air somehow seemed to lift pain, to smudge the jagged edges of it, at least a little. It was enough.

Slowly they followed Maurice, who stood gazing about in wonder by a slender stream. Eventually, Laurelin steeled herself, not much caring for this part. It seemed a shame to mar the smooth dove-gray bark of the Eldergleam tree. A massive tangle of roots stretched across the path. Even for the nimble, tree-loving Bosmer, there was clearly no way around. The roots only shifted and twisted until she lost her grip and fell to the ground. Drawing Nettlebane, sending up a quick prayer begging forgiveness, Laure gingerly nicked the massive root before her and watched it writhe away as if horrified. She wished the whole mass would just roll up out of the way, but she had to nick each and every one that tangled across the path.

Maurice charged up behind the two Companions as they neared the top, red-faced, sputtering. "I had no idea you were a woman of violence!"

"What exactly did you _think_ I was?" Laure asked, her brows lifted archly.

"Oh I don't know, I guess the swords and armor should have given it away. What exactly are your intentions in this blessed place?"

"I need sap of the Eldergleam to help Danica restore the Gildergreen tree. You seemed concerned for it when we met in Whiterun. I rather thought you might be pleased. I must have been mistaken."

"You would violate this marvel of Kynareth's glory, for that-that half breed _stump_ in Whiterun?"

"I don't like it any more than you, but this is that 'half-breed stump's mother. All mothers willingly bleed and endure unimaginable pain for their children. You would know this if you were a woman."

"This is barbaric! I'll have no part of-"

"Do you perhaps have a better idea?" her irritation with this pilgrim's fussiness growing by the second.

"I will pray for guidance under her sacred tree's branches." Maurice turned and knelt before the luminous tree and began a fervent prayer to his goddess.

"Branches you may now kneel under because of my _barbaric_ act," she muttered so low, only Vilkas could hear. Laure snooped around a bit while the monk prayed, finding a chest deep in a tangle of roots. Before she could investigate further, the sound of wind chimes rose behind her and she whirled about. A line of light trickled along the outstretched roots before Maurice, spiraled up, pulling a green and silver shoot up, topped by a trio of rosy leaves. "Aye, aren't you a lovely thing?" she whispered to the little sapling before her. Out loud she declared, "Well done, Maurice. I think this will be just what we need. Thank you for your help."

Maurice bowed, "It was an honor. Now I think I will bask here in the beauty of this peaceful place a while longer. Tell Danica that true blessings lie in renewal, not slavish maintenance." He wandered away at that, interest absorbed back into his goddess.

Laure had no intention of telling Danica anything like it, but she nodded and bent to scoop up loose mulch and soil to pack around the pale roots of the tiny tree. Vilkas had gone down the trail, bought a small sack from another wanderer, and come back up by the time Laure had finished carefully loosening the sapling. The Bosmer lined the sack with moist leaves and moss, then carefully crumbled the soil she had raked up until it had a uniform texture, mounded that in the bag, then just as carefully arrayed the bare roots over the cone of soil. She had Vilkas hold the sapling upright while she used both hands to carefully tamp soil over the roots until she judged there was enough and the roots properly set. She wiped her filthy hands together with a smile. "That should keep it happy." She lifted the little tree in her arms and cooed to it. "You're going to a brand new home! You'll live in the middle of town and be the wonder of the hold. Yes, you're so pretty!"

Vilkas walked by, biting his lip, trying not to burst into gales of laughter. _Fruity mer, no wonder she doesn't eat plants. It would be like eating her own children_, he thought to himself.

"Oh look, there's grumpy uncle Vilkas. Don't worry, he's more bark than bite." Laurelin sang to the little tree with a merry grin to her shield-brother. "Let's go get you a drink of water, little tree."

* * *

Vilkas and Laurelin walked back into Whiterun early the next day, the Bosmer having chatted cheerfully to the tree nearly the entire way back, crooning little songs to its rosy leaves. They drew bemused stares from everyone they passed in the streets. The tall, dark-haired Vilkas parted ways with her at the circle in the Winds District under the bare branches of the Gildergreen tree.

"Thank you for your help and company, Vilkas; I appreciate you coming along. I'll see you soon."

"It was my pleasure, Laurelin." They embraced warmly, he continuing on up to Jorrvaskr, she turning into the temple of Kynareth.

Danica greeted Laurelin warmly as always, her gentle voice excited. "Wonderful, you have returned! Did you get the sap?"

Laure grinned as she replied, "I have something better. Maurice prayed to Kynareth for guidance and she blessed us with this sapling!"

Danica's excitement waned. "But I need the sap to restore the tree; I'm not sure about replacing the Gildergreen with this tiny thing."

"Actually, I have an idea about that. In my homeland we have a technique called grafting that allows us to-in a way—stitch a branch of another tree onto an existing one. If it works, the sapling would become part of the old tree, and we wouldn't need to cut it down."

"How would you know if it would work? I'm not at all sure about this."

"I would need to examine the tree a little to see if it has enough life in it to accept a new branch. Given that the sapling is full of the magic and life of Kynareth, I suspect it would work."

Danica stared at her hands for a moment, then nodded. "Do what you think will work best. With Kynareth's guidance, may your hands be successful."

* * *

Laurelin sat back on her high perch, pushed a lock of sweaty hair from her eyes. A few last tugs on the wrappings around the graft point to make sure they were snug, then she nodded. Everything seemed to be working well. The grafted sapling had locked into place almost as if by design. A tiny, warm glow seemed to be slowly seeping through the bark of the Gildergreen, which pleased Laure immensely.

"You look like a monstrously huge, self satisfied squirrel up there," Vilkas called up from the ground. He had wandered back down after stowing his gear to watch her working. "You'd better come down before someone tries to shoot you and put you in a stew pot." He caught the satchel of tools she dropped to him, then held out a hand to help her down. Laure laughed her musical laugh, slid back on the tree branch until her behind was clear. With a whoop she flipped over backwards, spun, and landed easily on her feet.

Danica thanked her profusely again, then sat herself on the bench, as if waiting for the magic to happen instantaneously. Laure deeply hoped this worked. As she headed back down to Breezehome, Vilkas accompanied her, though he was quiet. Laure invited him in, and they settled down in front of the fire.

Vilkas glanced around. There were no feminine fripperies in this house. In fact, other than the furnishings she had purchased with the house and few dozen books on the shelves, there was nothing personalized about her house. Of course, she had just moved in. He sighed and announced, "Aela has come out of her room finally. It seems she was looking for you while we were gone." He smiled briefly as he accepted a cup of mead from Laurelin. "Thank you. If I know her, she has some half-cocked notion of vengeance for Skjor's demise. I just want to warn you of the heat of the blood-although I'm sure you know by now how it can cloud your mind. Just-don't let the beast become _you_."

Laure sipped her own cup. "Vilkas, that almost sounded like you care. It's touching-"

"Aye touching, but I'm not jesting. Don't underestimate your wolf spirit. Those who do end up dead." He noticed her curl up into herself, crossing her knees in front of her breasts, elbows hooked around her knees to clutch her cup. Normally she didn't look at all vulnerable, always with a cocky or silly smile on her face, a jest or curse on her lips, entrancing eyes sparkling with some mischief. Not so now. Now he read uncertainty in her posture and scent like it was written on the pages of a book.

"Don't worry, after a few turns of the moon, the overall bloodlust subsides. Not completely, but with time it becomes more like an argument that you can walk away from. You are able to choose what you do with the blood. Whether you use it every day or never." He shuddered a little at this.

"Would you recommend never changing?"

His voice came hoarse and low. "No. Not if you value your sanity and your friends." He stared morosely into the fire.

She stirred, unfolding her now-long legs to push her toes toward the fire. "Would you like to stay for supper?"

Vilkas thought for a moment then regretfully tried to decline. "I should get back up to the hall. Farkas will be back soon, and he'll want his pay-"

Laurelin scoffed loudly. "You know he'll stop here first; you might as well just stay and have a meal with me. Or would you rather we went to the Mare again?" She smirked her knowing little grin at him, and all he could see was her knocking the shit out of Uthgerd again.

"Ah no, here would be fine, sister."

Laurelin hummed to herself while she sliced thin curls of raw beef from a joint, skewered them on long wooden sticks, doused them with pepper oil and set them over a bed of coals. While she worked, Vilkas amused himself at her bookshelves.

Flipping through her scant collection, he smiled. "Looks like you've been borrowing from my little library for a reason."

"Oh, I have a few more upstairs in a chest, the ones I really like or learned a lot from. I keep those separate. I keep a few extra spell tomes on the shelf in the lab too." She noted his confused expression. "It was an option when I was purchasing the furnishings. I figured I might as well. Maybe my healing potions will get better—if I'm ever home long enough, that is."

Vilkas gave a little grunt of understanding and flipped the skewers of meat. Together they quietly made up plates of delicious seared beef, cheese, and fresh bread Laure toasted up with butter for her guest; and they ate in front of the fire, sipping their Nord mead from clay cups, waiting for Farkas. They were both pleasantly full, feeling the numerous bottles of mead, warm and tired. Neither of them had much felt like resting on the journey back from the Eldergleam Sanctuary. Both felt a residual lightness emanating from the sapling Laurelin had cradled in her arms, as if aches and stiffness had been eased away for the time. They chatted quietly at times, then just as easily lapsed into their own thoughts.

Now, that lightness slowly faded to a languorous, restful, easiness of spirit. Even their wolf spirits seemed quiescent for the time being. Laurelin was just rolling another log onto the fire when they both picked up Farkas's scent nearing the gates. Laure opened the door before he could knock, a welcoming smile on her face.

"Welcome back stranger. How fared you-" She was interrupted by the big man exuberantly folding her into his muscled chest and lifting her high into the air, spinning her about. "Wow! Miss me much?" she gasped when she had her breath back.

"Of course! How could I not? The woman I had to rescue was completely helpless, cried the whole time, and when I got her back to Rorikstead, she acted like she'd done it all herself. Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Arms getting tired, dear one?"

Farkas realized her feet still dangled a few inches over the floorboards. "Oh, yeah." He dropped her lightly the rest of the way and she stepped back, ushering him in.

"If you're hungry, there are some leftovers on the table." She pulled him over to the fire.

Vilkas raised his cup, a small, lazy smile uncharacteristically pulling his lips upward. "Good to see you again, my brother. Sounds like you were successful; here is your cut. Well done." Vilkas tossed a purse to his brother, who caught it adroitly and tucked it out of sight.

Farkas wandered over to the table, clapping a heavy hand on his brother's shoulder on the way, and sniffed at the spicy aroma coming from under a large, inverted blue bowl. "Smells great. So what have the two of you been up to while I was away?"

Vilkas chuckled. " Our sister should tell you about that, I think. I'm afraid I haven't her voice."

Laure pressed a cup into Farkas' hand. "It's nothing really. There was a tree. And some singing."

"Why am I not surprised?" The big man asked his cup with a smile.

*-*-*  
_Ok, before you all send out a lynch mob or anything, let me say to all of you-this is all made up! I know grafting a sapling onto a nearly dead tree won't bring it back to life. Unless it's a magical, goddess blessed tree and sapling. My game glitched out pretty badly for this one, I still have the old Gildergreen posted up in Whiterun, with the branches of the new sticking randomly out of the old. To me, it looks like they were just stuck on, so that's where the grafting idea came from. It works and Laure gets to play tree doctor!_


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen- Blood Lust**

**Oops! Almost forgot to put in the SMUT WARNING! Take it or leave it. :)**

Early the next morning, Laurelin rose from her regretfully lonely bed, dressed, washed up and headed up into the Winds District. The Gildergreen was softly tinged with a faint blush of life. The newly grafted branch jutted proudly into the sky, the tiny curl of another leaf unfolding slowly. Pleased, she patted the pale bark fondly and turned up the stairs to Jorrvaskr. Rather than going inside though, she ran up to the Skyforge. Perhaps Eorland was finished reworking her wolf armor.

She was quietly elated when she saw the finished product. He had done a wonderful job. The breast plate now fit more snugly over her modest bustline, no longer looking like she had pillaged it off a considerably more well-endowed woman than herself. The molded breasts had just been too big, and she found the hard-shelled plate a distraction and impediment when using her bow. Now they fit just right.

Eorland had grudgingly agreed to do the work, uncomfortable with the amount of measurements and skin involved with getting it to fit her better. But the hard part was complete; now they were just doing a final fitting.

Laurelin looked down with approval. "Eorland, it's perfect! Thank you so much!" She gave his sooty cheek a little kiss and then struck a pose. "How does it look?"

Eorland scanned it over with a critical eye. "It does look more proportionate, I'll agree. You're too damn long and skinny for the old set, that's clear now. I'll remember that in the future. And try to remember to take it off before you-" He lifted his brows at her not wanting to voice the rest.

"Before I swim, yes. Thank you again. How much do I owe you?"

"I don't want your money. The challenge offered and job well done is payment enough. Just try to avoid any further growth spurts in the future."

"I assuredly don't plan on growing any taller. I already feel like I'll bang my head into some doorways!" She clasped the tall man's wrist with a smile. "Divines bless your forge and you, I'll put this to good use. Have a lovely day, Eorland." She whirled and dropped lightly over the edge of the little plateau, completely ignoring the stairs. Eorland shook his head and picked his hammer up once more. There were other orders to be filled, and the hammer didn't wield itself, nor the bellows breathe life into the forge without his hand.

Aela greeted Laurelin from the porch, where the haggard and drained looking redhead hunched over a pile of parchment on the table. "Honor to you, sister. I see you've improved the fit of your armor. It was a good idea to reduce the chest piece. I always thought it ridiculous myself, part of the reason I never liked wearing the wolf armor."

"It's heavy too, but Farkas has some really good stuff to teach about the heavy armor, so I've been getting tips from him. I prefer light armor myself, but sometimes the steel is what saves your life." She met Aela's gaze, then folded her into a warm embrace. Aela stiffly returned the hug, then pulled her Bosmer sister down to a chair.

"Sister, I need your help. If I only learned one thing from Skjor's death, it's that I need a sibling at my back. Someone I can trust with my life and honor. I've been looking through all of my information, and I know where there are several lairs of the Silver Hand nearby. We need to wipe them out before they can hurt us again. Help me avenge Skjor and all the other murdered brothers we've seen, all the ones we've not. Come with me and we will make them pay, pay so dearly that any who survive will never dare approach us again!" Aela's voice was low, but urgent, and every word she said had been uttered as if she was speaking directly to Laurelin's lurking wolf spirit.

Laure felt the relative peace of the last few days being devoured by the hunger Aela's words sparked in her heart. Before her mind could clearly think about what she was doing, her wolf spirit spoke through her lips. "It would be an honor to hunt with you again, sister. When do we leave?" Grimly smiling, Laurelin gazed deep into her sister's burning eyes.

"As soon as you're ready," was Aela's succinct reply.

* * *

After a week of near constant, bloody fighting and hunting Silver Hand, Aela and Laurelin returned to Whiterun, their thirst for vengeance somewhat slaked. Word of their escapades seemed to have leaked throughout Jorrvaskr, although most of the younger Companions seemed—to varying degrees—to quietly cheer them on.

When Kodlak summoned her to his chambers, Laurelin expected the worst. Though he was disappointed, he understood at the deepest level how the blood had kindled inside of her, had demanded payment in kind. What hurt most was his gentle, admonishing tone, more painful than the lash from a whip.

"Well and done child. While a part of me hoped you would be able to resist the baser urges of the blood, it is not unexpected, nor will I judge you. We have all made mistakes and thought better of our decisions later. Tell me, do you feel better now that you have shed so much blood for your shield-brother?" He peered over at her, where she slumped in the chair in utter exhaustion.

"Honestly I can't say. A part of me says yes; and yet again, too much blood has already been spilled. The other part of me howls that until the last Silver Hand is dead, it will never, ever be enough." The tired Bosmer looked up at Kodlak, meeting his sympathetic gaze. "Vilkas even warned me last week, but Aela said a few words and everything he told me flew right out of my head."

"Aela I am sure, was very compelling in her arguments. I don't doubt she said just the right words to inflame your heart, to lure you in. Vilkas would know about the dangers. He was right to warn you, but some lessons may only truly be learned by tasting the bitter fruits of our actions. You two are very much alike, you know. Both intelligent, loyal, full of potential, and possessed of an inner fire that kindles those around you. With such as you and Jergen's two sons, amongst our other talented siblings, I can see the Companions rising in glory and honor once again."

"I'll drink to that, although I don't see Vilkas singing and skipping too much."

"Would that I see the day. Even as a child he was always more reserved. Not that he never played or did childish things. He just watched and learned more, while Farkas was always first into trouble and the last out."

"Did you ever learn what happened to their real parents or Jergen?" Laure asked quietly.

"Sadly no. All I know for sure is Jergen found them as toddlers nigh on two and thirty years ago. Jergen was a warrior, never married to aught but his weapon. It was a strange act for him to adopt two young, traumatized boys. He loved them as much as he loved anything I think, but he never could commit to staying home to raise them. After the war, when he never returned, the rest of us did our best to bring them up right. It hasn't always been easy. Being raised by a bunch of hardened mercenaries must have been difficult. To not have your own mother and father, always have the questions." He gazed with his eyes half closed at his weathered hands.

"I'm sure they both know how much you care for them. All of you did an amazing thing to bring up such strong, honorable warriors up from terrified whelps. Not many true parents can do as well."

"While a splendid notion, I still have days when I wish I had done things differently. Now, I have a few letters I need to write. I feel that I am on the trail of some hopeful information. With any luck, over the next few days, I will have the answer I seek. It feels so close! Now scoot, I'm sure one of the others have a few jobs for you. I may soon need you for a very important task, so stay within a day or so travel of Whiterun."

"Of course, Harbinger." She kissed his whiskery cheek and took her leave. She stopped in the common room to gather a few more of her things. While she was filling a few baskets, Farkas came in behind her. He said nothing but scooped her up and squeezed her tight to his chest. Laure rested her head over his heart, and they both just held each other for a few minutes, drawing comfort from each others touch. Finally he set her back down, but left one hand behind her neck, fingers tangled into her hair. He seemed to be struggling for the right thing to say while he searched her eyes and face.

Laure gazed back at him, let him see and smell some of the pain, the weariness, the triumph. He was trying so hard to see if she had been altered drastically by her rampage with Aela. It was charming in its way, how concerned he was, and at the thought, a tiny flash of her own light shone out at him, a sparkle in her eye. "I'm here."

That was all he needed. Farkas sighed and rumbled, "I'm glad you came back."

"I would be a fool to leave, dear one. I am moving my stuff to Breezehome though. Be a love and carry that heavy one?" Farkas of course agreed with good cheer, glad to see she seemed like herself.

Laure had owned Breezehome for a few weeks now and spent only a handful of nights actually sleeping here, but it felt nice to unlock the door and shoulder her way in.

"Honored to see you my Thane!" called Lydia brightly from upstairs.

Laure groaned quietly. "Why does she do that?"

"Better get used to it." Farkas chuckled.

"No, not that. She says honored to 'see' me again, but she can't. I hope. She's in my room." Laure cast a suspicious glance up at the ceiling but could only see thin streaks of light shining through the planks. "Lydia, run to the market and get whatever we need for supper here. Is there enough water for a bath?"

"There should be." Lydia rattled down the stairs, gave Farkas a nod and looked through the cupboards before heading out. Farkas carried the basket upstairs, poking his head briefly into Lydia's tiny room before swinging around into Laurelin's room.

"Not bad." He smiled approvingly at the large, fur-covered bed.

"Shush!" she laughed as she followed him in. They set their bundles down and sprawled comfortably on the mattress, her head pillowed by his heavily muscled arm. His arm curled up and around to playfully grope the molded breast plate. She slapped his hand and then captured it between her fingers and her heart.

Laying back, smelling her sweet scent, he stared down at their twined fingers and limbs over her armored breast and the symbolism there was not entirely lost.

The lovely elf had let her eyes drift closed when his deep voice broke the silence. "So you never answered my question."

"Sorry dear heart, what was that?"

"Last week, after Skjor..." he faltered a moment, then cleared his throat to continue. "After your first change, in my room. You never told me about this Bryn person."

Laurelin's eyes popped open, all trace of sleepiness gone. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"No. And yes. When you first showed up here I could tell that you had someone, a lover at least, but I don't smell him on you anymore, and guess I just want to know where I fit in to this. But if you don't want to talk about it..." He trailed off.

She rolled over and faced him squarely, looking him in the eye. "I'll tell you, but first-" She leaned forward and kissed him deeply, a kiss that roused her hunger for more as much as his. Finally she pulled her lips from his. With a sigh she said, "Brynjolf and I are business partners and for the last three years we _have_ been lovers. We were _very_ good together, both in business and in bed. We had amazing adventures, made each other rich after seeing our endeavors pay out. We are blessed, finally, with profit beyond what we hoped for when first we took control of our floundering business. Those were some of the happiest years I have had in a very long time. But I have been drawn away, most likely forever, and he-Bryn loves coin, loves the game of gaining more contracts and contacts. More influence with the right people. And he's brilliant at what he does. I think he'll be happier staying where he is."

"Does he love you?"

"I think he does. Sometimes I know. He never really said it. He spent so much time talking and making deals, often when we were alone he just wanted to be silent or lay in our fishing boat on the lake watching the borealis. It was never easy for him to express deeper feelings out loud; he is a very guarded man."

"It's what his name means-armored wolf." His finger tips lightly rapped the armor she still wore.

"Does it now? I wonder if he knows that. How did you know?"

"I read a book once."

"Just the one?" she said in a teasing tone, although her heart wasn't in it.

"Do you love him?" Was the big man's next question, almost whispered, followed by a swift inhalation, as if he was trying to withdraw the question, to unsay it.

Laure bit her lip. Part of her wanted to deny any attachment, but she would not lie to him. And then she remembered she could not lie to Farkas. Not ever. "Of course I do. I did mention that he's brilliant, right? I could go on and on about how much I adore Brynjolf, but that's not it. When my mate was killed in Valenwood a few score years ago, I nearly killed myself with grief. Brynjolf rescued me from myself. I would be a shabby example of a friend if I didn't love him."

"You're crying," Farkas quietly remarked.

Laure realized he was right and she wiped the betraying moisture from her eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm being pretty stupid right now-"

His voice rose and cut across hers. "It isn't stupid to care about someone. Ever. What is stupid is to share a bond with someone and never do anything about it. To let that person walk out of your life, and into the arms of someone else." He squeezed her tightly and asserted, "Like he's doing with you."

"Bryn isn't stupid, or a coward, whatever you may think. He believes I have a greater destiny in store for me and doesn't want to hold me back. He isn't a mighty warrior like you; his strengths lie... elsewhere, and he knows he can't protect me from all the harm I'll face. If anything, he probably feels that he would be a hindrance. Can you see?"

"Nah, I still think he's an idiot; but hey, if he won't do whatever it takes to keep you, I'm sure someone will." His fingers trailed lightly up her spine, making her shiver in closer to his chest.

"You are adorable and amazing, do you know this, Farkas?"

He looked surprised for a moment; then a little smile twitched the corners of his full lips. "It's been whispered in my ear a time or two." They lay quietly together for several minutes before Laure reluctantly pulled out of his arms.

They chatted quietly while she puttered, restocking her travel pack, putting other things away. Lydia returned soon after and Farkas went down to help her with the tub and water. Laure heard her housecarl thank her shield-brother as they hoisted buckets and basin together. Soon Laure was all restocked and packed for her upcoming trip. With an agile leap, Laure dropped over the railing to the bottom floor at the base of the stairs.

Farkas was mulling up some mead, while Lydia basted a row of chickens on the spit over the fire. "Hmm, I don't know what I want first, a bath or food. Which one is closer to being done, the chicken or the water?"

"How warm do you want the water?" Farkas asked, without looking up from his mead.

"How cooked do you want the chicken?" Lydia continued basting the the chicken with butter.

"Both of you! No help at all." She wandered over to inspect the water in the kettle and saw that it was beginning to steam nicely, so she made up her mind. "Bath first. Help me with this, Farkas?"

He helped her fill the the tub, then turned away as she swiftly disrobed and sank gratefully into the warm water.

"Want help washing your back, Laure?" Farkas grinned over at her from by the fire, again mulling the mead.

"Nice as that sounds, dear brother, my bodyguard there looks as though she may have some feelings about that!"

Lydia had an unreadable blank expression on her face when she looked up. "What? If my Thane wishes to seduce every young, gorgeous, slab of meat that walks the streets of Whiterun, it's not my place to stand in her way."

"He is rather gorgeous isn't he?" Laure smiled up at the man in question as he handed her a goblet of steaming spiced mead.

"Do you want me to answer that?"

"No need, Lydia. How long on the chicken?"

"Should be done very soon. You may want to start scrubbing."

Laure sank lower in the water and sipped her mead. "Perfect, Farkas! I've never had mead this good! You always make it just right!" She sipped again and let the warm honey and spice-scented brew swirl across her tongue with delight.

"I'm glad you like it," he rumbled.

Soon Lydia was using a heavy knife to cut apart the crispy roasted chickens. As Laurelin was still lounging in the tub, enjoying her mead, Lydia shoved the table behind the front door a little closer to the tub and set a platter of food by her Thane's elbow. "Is there anything else? More water for your bath?"

"Would you? That sounds wonderful. Then you sit and eat. After this I'll take care of myself. I do appreciate the pampering though, thank you." Lydia went to sit at the table and eat by herself after refilling the kettle. Farkas sat at the small table near Laure, pretending to ignore the occasional flashes of smooth white skin as she sat up or stretched.

Lydia excused herself to her room before Laure got out of the tub but made sure a pile of fluffy towels was warming nearby. Farkas and Laure ate quietly, he getting up to refresh the warm water in her tub when it grew too cool.

When he had seated himself again, Laure asked the big man quietly, "If this works for Kodlak, the thing I'm going to get soon, what will you do?"

He shrugged, chewing for a moment. Swallowing and clearing his throat, he replied, "I think eventually I would want to be cleansed of the blood. Lately I've been avoiding the change because it makes things easier for my brother and the old man. But I still love the rush, the smells, the taste of blood..." His grin was distinctly wolfish, white teeth long and sharp in the firelight. "I wish we could hunt together. I bet you're as beautiful as a wolf as a woman," He drawled softly, as he reached over and ran a calloused forefinger lightly over her jaw.

While sweet in sentiment, the idea of herself as a beautiful, slavering beast amused her and she laughed out loud. "Indeed!"

"I'm serious!" he protested, a slightly injured expression on his handsome face. "I want to hunt with you out under the moons. I think we make a good team; and in the hunt, what could stand before us?"

"No, dear one. It's not that. I would love to hunt with you." She leaned over and offered her lips for a kiss, which he eagerly claimed with his own.

When she rose from the tub and stood naked and unashamed before him, his breath caught in his throat. She looked like something out of a story book, a woodland spirit ensnared in mortal form. Then she knelt down in front of him, looking earnestly up into his eyes.

"Can we still be friends and shield siblings in the morning if I ask you to take me upstairs to my bed right now?"

"I will always be your friend, Laurelin, lovers or not." He didn't feel the need to confirm that she would always have his shield and sword at her back. It was a given.

"Then I would very much like it if you swept me off my feet and carried me upstairs to bed now." She straightened up, and Farkas rising from his chair with an enigmatic smile, lifted her into his arms. She nestled into his chest, feathering kisses over his jaw as he carried her up the steps, kicked her door shut with his heel. In her room, candles on the nightstand cast soft shadows on their faces as he lowered her gently to the furs. He stared down at her for a long moment, drinking in the sight of her pale, lithe body. Laure rose to her knees on the bed, tugged with her long fingers at the laces of his tunic, slid them up over the hard plane of his belly, through the curls of dark hair covering his chest while Farkas pulled the shirt over his head. His breeches fell to the floor with hardly a whisper; the only sound to be heard was the fire, popping softly below.

Their scents were both heavily loaded with desire, drifting into flaring noses, inflaming senses that were already smoldering. Laure tugged his breechcloth from his hips, let the final scrap of cloth drop to the floorboards with the rest of his clothes, as she wrapped her sensitive fingers around the length and width of him. His massive body shook helplessly as her glinting eyes met his, her lips warm and wet slid over him with out preamble. A tiny whimper escaped his throat when he felt the delicious tug of her mouth, her tongue gliding over every inch of him. Another whimper rolled out, while his fingers tangled into her hair.

"Sssh, can't wake the bodyguard-she might want to keep and eye on you..." Laure whispered up to him. He shook again with silent laughter, pulled her head back so her eyes gazed up into his.

"I'm going to make you scream for that. Let her wonder what I'm doing to you," he promised, pushing her back into the furs. He held to that promise. He kissed, licked and bit her sensitive flesh, leaving her limbs shaking. His soft lips descended between her thighs, made her heave and buck under his tongue. Laure did her best not to cry out, wrapped her strong fingers around his forearms, nails gouging. Finally he slid up her body again, leaving a trail of scorching kisses from navel to throat.

"Shush now!" He teased with hungry smile, as he settled himself between her legs, slowly pushed forward. He bit his lower lip as he felt her wet sex slide over him, hot and unbelievably tight.

"Sweet Mara!" Laurelin screamed when his hips met hers finally. Farkas leaned forward, covered her lips with his, slid his arms up under hers and lifted her up to him. Her tongue delved eagerly into his mouth, teeth pulled fiercely at his upper upper lip, while her hips rolled against his. He gently pushed himself in as deeply as he could go, then stilled, felt her squirming against him. His first strokes were an exercise in self control while she pleaded in his ear to continue. Slowly, they became longer as he grew accustomed to the way they fit together. His questing lips muffled most of her cries as a hungry rhythm urgently claimed both of their bodies.

Soon they weren't even trying to stay quiet any more, as their cries were too numerous to stifle. With every thrust he made into her, Laurelin's bed slammed forcefully against the wall, surely waking Lydia and the neighbors. Farkas jumped out of the bed finally and dragged it away from the wall to the middle of the room. He returned, crawled across the mattress with a predatory glint in his silver eyes, picked her up and brought her to his chest, pulling her into his lap. Sweat glistened on their quivering bodies as he lowered her onto him, fingers tight against her hips, head bent to take her taught nipple in his teeth.

Laure was gasping, every short breath forced out by by his deliberate upward strokes. She loved the way he simply picked her up and held her in place with his powerful arms, all the while his lips burned across her throat, nibbled her earlobe, made her thrash and writhe wildly against him. She let each sensation carry her deeper into the raw core of her desire as she twisted and shook against his wide, hard chest. Each time they rolled or rocked together, Laure felt her limbs grow heavier with impending release. Her cries, now frantic, matched each movement, only stifled when she clamped her teeth hard into his shoulder.

Farkas held himself tightly back-he was so close, but so was she—until he felt her velvety muscles constrict, every one in her entire body folded hard and tight around him, vibrating for a mind-numbing instant, and then she crumbled against his chest with choked sob. He flipped her over on her back, legs still tight around his hips, and let go of his control. One strong thrust and she cried out as another orgasm wracked her body. A second thrust after she quieted, Farkas biting his lips as she rolled against him to another peak. A third stroke and they cried out in exquisite release together, hips shuddering to a stop, his hairy chest pressed hard into her breasts, fingers tangled into wild hair. Their last throaty cries echoed through her small house, to be swallowed by the silence that followed.

He grinned down at her, listening to her heart racing still, as her fingers pulled through his hair. "Just let me get my breath back and I'll really make you scream," he breathed into her ear.

"Not if you scream first!" she panted softly, and slapped his sweaty behind.

* * *

Laurelin rose early, dehydrated, legs shaking, lips bruised and swollen, to get some water. She and Farkas must have sweated pints last night and this morning. After the first heady release of their collective passions, he had waited mere moments before flipping her over on her hands and knees. "I've wanted to do this to you for a while now..." What followed was a luscious, mind-warping exercise in dominating each other. They had both delighted in making the other squirm and twist with urgent need, watch pleading turn to merciless amusement as they shifted the tide of their personal battle to see who could make who yell the loudest under clever tongues and agile fingers.

Wrapped in her sabre cat pelt, the wobbly Bosmer spotted Lydia curled up on the floor of the alchemy lab, wrapped in blankets, head stuffed under the chair in the corner farthest from her Thane's bedroom. Several cushions were wedged over her ears under the chair. Laure nudged her housecarl with her toe. "You can go to your room now Lydia, I've worn the poor lad out." Pouring herself some water she drank it back, watching Lydia slowly unfold herself from her awkward bed.

"Finally! Talos, you two are loud. Next time you're paying for a room at the Mare for me." She grumbled as she stumbled by her Thane. "_Oooh Farkas_!" she intoned in a high falsetto.

"I did not!" exclaimed an indignant Laurelin.

"But you did." With that the door clicked shut. "Good night, my Thane. Get some rest." Lydia said in her normal volume. Clearly heard through the walls, even with out the benefit of her enhanced hearing.

"I'll open a tab for you at the Mare tomorrow." She called up. _Damn. I'm going to need to fix this place up, and soon!_


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen- Unforeseen Complication **

A Note:  
_Farkas, I couldn't sleep, the blood makes me restless. I've gone out hunting while you rest. See you soon. Laure_

Unable to return to sleep, Laure slipped out of Breezehome just after dawn, clad in her snug leathers, shouldering her Nightingale bow. A crisp breeze lifted her nose while she stomped her heels down into her finely tooled boots. Once out of the city, she trotted west over the plain, hoping to bring home a deer before they all wandered away from the city for the day. Soon her keen sense of smell picked up a fresh scent, and she loped off through the brush. An hour later, she was striding back through her front door with a small, gutted buck over her shoulders. The house was quiet, but two sets of soft breathing sifted through the planks.

She was up to her elbows in blood, skinning her kill when a pair of strong arms slid around her waist. A low, husky voice rumbled in her ear, "That is so sexy. The sun is barely up and you're in the kitchen, all bloody and beautiful."

"You say such nice things." She nuzzled against his scratchy cheek for a moment, then handed him a sharp knife. Together they skinned the little buck, butchered it down, and had the whole mess cleaned up in half an hour. After that, they made a quick breakfast of fresh venison, scrambled eggs with cheese, and Farkas helped himself to Laurelin's ever present fruit bowl.

"So Kodlak asked me yesterday if I could take a trip to Winterhold for him; there are some books there that he is interested in. Care to join me?" he asked as his strong teeth snapped into an apple.

"I would love to, but he has me on a short leash for the time being. Plus I have a bundle of little things I need to do around here. I'll still be here when you get back, though."

"Yeah, well, I should get moving." He stood, pulled her to her feet. "I don't have enough pretty words to say about how much I enjoyed last night, and I hope you enjoyed yourself as much as I did."

"Oh I think you know how much I enjoyed myself. Don't sell yourself short all the time, dear heart. Travel safely."

"I will. I'll be back before you know it. Don't go slaying any more dragons without me." His long dark hair fell over them as he leaned in, flickered a light kiss over Laure's lips, his large hands low on her waist.

"I'll try not to." She pressed close to him, drinking in his solid warmth. "May the gods watch over your battles, brother." With a small sigh of regret, he turned away, slipped out the door, a last grin thrown over his shoulders.

* * *

Although Laurelin used nearly her entire stock of healing potions and numerous attempts with her restoration magic, some of the marks Farkas left on her body defiantly remained all too visible. She finally gave up trying to lighten the livid bruising and teeth marks; she would just have to live with them and the jibes she was sure to receive from her shield-siblings until they faded on their own.

Lydia stumbled down the stairs not long after Farkas left. She glanced around, saying, "Good, I don't think I can look him in the eye ever again. Hey, something smells good; any leftovers?" She sat down, helped herself to a heaping plate. While she forked a bite of egg into her mouth, Lydia cast a curious eye over her Thane. "By Talos! What did he do to your neck?"

Laure, wearing her wolf armor, strode into Jorrvaskr with a content smile on her face. Last night's release with Farkas had helped clear away an enormous amount of tension she had been holding on to. Aela looked from the table and nodded, her glittering eyes narrowed in amusement. Laure suspected she knew the reason for Aela's expression, but let it go.

"Honor to you, sister. Care to practice with me today?" Laure asked her beautiful, red-haired sister.

"Not today, thank you. I'm heading out to hunt in the Pale. I feel the need to get out of the city. Perhaps you could train with Vilkas."

"I guess I could at that. Good hunting to you then sister." Laure shoved out the back doors, having caught Vilkas' warm scent coming from the practice yard. He seemed to be back to his distant, brooding self but readily agreed to spar with Laure. The lean mer stretched to warm up her muscles, enjoying the warm sunny day. When she was ready, Vilkas faced her, his gray eyes flickering down to her marked throat for an instant, in which he scowled slightly, then schooled his features into an unreadable mask.

"A greatsword isn't to be treated like a regular blade. Patience, timing, balance, these are a few of the most important factors in battling with a two-handed blade. Flailing wildly will tire you more quickly and put you at risk of being in a position where you might be unable to protect yourself. Now, show me your grip." He adjusted Laure's grip; then stepping up close, he showed her the proper stance, his warm body fitted up against her back while he instructed her on how to block with the massive sword in her hands.

Vilkas was patient in his teaching, if not exactly warm and friendly. He had to bring Laure back to the present a few times when he caught her daydreaming about her activities with Farkas the night before, wondering how quickly he would return from his mission to Winterhold. _He said he wanted to hunt with me; did he mean in wolf form? Kodlak and Vilkas will both be upset if I cause Farkas to change_-

"Focus!" he snapped. "If you let your mind wander while in battle, you will end up hurt, or worse, someone you care for will. A true foe will take swift advantage of any lapse in your attention, and you will be dead. With a greatsword, you won't be able to use your normal style of dancing and weaving around, you'll over extend yourself, leave your back open, and be off balance as well."

"Sorry Vilkas, I guess I'm just tired. I'll try harder." Laure pushed her hair back from her sweaty forehead, breathing heavily. Swinging a hefty, two-handed sword, even just holding it up, while wearing her heavy armor was wearing her out quickly. She lifted her blade gamely, settling into a relaxed but guarded position. She winked saucily at her shield-brother, waiting for him to come at her. They came together, every movement slow and cautious, Vilkas insisting she have utmost control over her blade, even though it was blunt.

Vilkas finally lowered his blade with a grunt. Laurelin was pink faced and panting, but she had finally banished whatever distractions had been drawing her attention away. Not that he didn't know exactly what had occupied her mind so. His brother's scent brushed his nose every time she danced near. "That's enough for today. You did well once you started paying attention, though you have much to learn still. Go home; you look like you need to rest. Make sure you stretch lightly before you lie down or you will hurt like the void tomorrow."

Laurelin lowered her own blade with a relieved sigh. Even though she had managed to focus her mind, her body was still taxed. Every muscle felt loose and watery yet thrummed with the energy she had built up while doing forms with Vilkas. "Thank you, Vilkas, I can see I still have much to learn. It will take me time to become as skilled as you."

"It's all in the swing." He grinned a little as he said this, his deep baritone voice full of amusement.

"If you say so, brother. Care to join me for supper later this evening? I have a fresh stock of venison, and I could even persuade Lydia to make some vegetables for you." When it looked as though he would decline, Laure prodded his shoulder with her forefinger. "Don't leave me with her all alone! I'll go insane; she gives me nothing but grief."

"I say give it right back. She'll respect you more if you aren't always such a pushover."

"I am not!"

"Then remind her who is Thane and who is housecarl."

"I don't want her to hate me! And don't think you're changing the subject so quickly. Are you coming to supper or not?"

"I'll be there. You get some rest this afternoon though. I think it will do you good." He clapped a hand on her shoulder, steered her away from the training yard. "Go home. I'll see you around sunset."

"See you soon, then. Good day, brother." Laure slowly walked back through town, pausing a moment to check on the Gildergreen tree. Everything still seemed healthy, so she continued home.

Lydia greeted her at the door with her usual enthusiasm, although there was a mocking note of amusement in her voice as she called down her greeting. Laure went up stairs, unfastening her armor as she went. In her under shift, Laure did a few quick stretches before ordering Lydia out of her room.

"I'm going to sleep. Go get whatever we need for dinner tonight, and more mead. Farkas and I drank the last of it last night." Laure yawned widely, dropping into her Farkas-scented bed furs. Lydia quietly went out, and the exhausted Bosmer snuggled into the pillows, deeply inhaling his warm, musky smell. Within minutes, Laure was peacefully asleep. Her dreams were vivid images of loping through tall grass, full, content, feeling the warm, living earth under her paws while she followed the scent of her lover over the plain.

* * *

"...Thane is still resting. Your hulk of a brother kept her awake all night. You sure she invited you tonight?"

"Aye, she insisted actually." Vilkas' deep voice sounded right under her head.

Laure called out blearily, "Let Vilkas in, Lydia; I invited him." She rolled over and stretched with a muffled groan. Her back muscles were on fire. Pulling herself from bed took a few moments; her muscles had all stiffened into hot bands of pain coiled around her entire body. She slowly pulled a clean dress over her head. Still, her mind felt clearer after her rest. It was the first untroubled sleep she had enjoyed in the weeks since she'd taken the blood.

Vilkas was sitting near the fire when she made her way downstairs finally, wincing at every step as her thigh muscles screamed in protest. "Can I get you some mead, or wine, brother?

"I was actually going to suggest we go admire the last bit of a truly spectacular sunset, but maybe you should just sit." He smirked slightly. "Old women need their rest."

Laure huffed and hobbled by him at a stately pace, then stepped out her front door to inspect the validity of his claim. The sky directly overhead was a deep purple, a few stars just winking into sight. Further west, broad swathes of indigo and and crimson mingled yet somehow never clashed. Molten gold and pink threads of light raced along the undersides of the scattered high clouds, looking so much like the frothing crests of waves crashing overhead that Laurelin caught her breath in awe. The sun was an incandescent orange and pink sliver, nearly dipped behind the dusky plum hued mountains across the gray plain. Vilkas' soft step whispered behind her, so she turned her head and smiled over her shoulder briefly before returning her gaze to the horizon, just as the sun slipped out of sight.

"Thank you. Each one is such a gift," Laurelin said softly, continuing to admire the swift deepening of the hues in the sky above.

"Aye." The chill evening breeze sprang up almost immediately, so they went back inside shortly after the star-scattered full mantle of night had spread over the land. Lydia was dicing vegetables into into the cooking pot when they entered, and a roast of venison sizzled on a spit over the coals. Laure sank down into a chair by the fire with a sigh. Vilkas seated himself in the other chair and pushed a pile of books over to the quiet mer. "I brought these for you. Take your time reading them; I know them by heart. They should be invaluable to you if you are serious about learning more of two-handed weapons. I wager even Lydia here could show you a thing or two."

"I'll take all the help I can get, but honestly I don't see myself ever fighting a dragon with a greatsword. I'd rather fist fight a troll, I think." She sat back and opened up a book after pouring Vilkas and herself a drink. Letting Laure read, Vilkas relaxed back in the cushions of his seat, silver eyes reflecting the firelight in bright flashes. Laure closed her book when Lydia offered her a plate of food. She and Vilkas cleaned their plates rapidly, then picked at a second serving more slowly, once more talking quietly on one of their favorite subjects: books.

"I read more when there isn't much work or training of whelps to do. It helps keep my mind off of other things. Like my brother and the trouble he could be getting himself into out there."

"Do you truly worry so much about him?"

"Of course I do. He's my little brother." Vilkas' lips curved up into an ironic smile. "For all his size and skill, he isn't invincible, and sometimes he's reckless."

"Honestly I have never seen him do anything reckless. But we were talking about that treatise on dwemer forges I found. It really did have the most fascinating notions on certain geometries intrinsic in the various minerals..."

Bored, Lydia retreated to her room, hoping to get more sleep tonight than last. Her Thane wasn't oozing the same sensuality as last night, and Vilkas didn't seem inclined to try anything too forward, so she let herself drop into sleep without hesitation.

Laure got up and slowly cleaned the dishes, chatting with Vilkas as she worked. He refilled her cup and leaned against the stairs while she wiped down the table and cutting block. As she straightened with a groan from the last bit of sweeping she did, his hands descended on her shoulders.

He had been watching her limp around all evening, had a pretty good idea of how sore and stiff her muscles would be, and a good idea as to how he could help. "Sit down for a few minutes, I'm going to do something..." he rounded up a pile of rolled furs and skins from under the stairs, shook them out and laid them flat where the tub had been yesterday. He then slid the towels from last night, still neatly folded and unused, as close to the coals as possible. "Do you have any healing potions?"

"No, I've used them all. There are ingredients in the satchel on the alchemy table though."

"Hmm, that would take a while. I'll just use my hands."

"For what?" She queried.

"You'll find out. This will work better without the dress. Do you trust me to keep my hands to myself?" he asked, a dangerous gleam in his eye, a hint of interest wafting to her nose.

Laure considered this a moment, then tugged her dress over her head and dropped it over her chair, stepped over to the furs where her shield-brother knelt on the floor. She stretched herself out face down in her small clothes, with her cheeks pillowed on the backs of her hands. Soon he was wrapping the warm towels around her, completely bundling her up. Sweat began to bead on her brow, but the warmth was beginning to loosen a few of the aches. When a towel cooled off, he peeled it back, taking each of her long limbs in his hands, flexing and pulling gently. He straddled her hips while he worked, his warm weight a sensual reminder of his proximity.

Under his skilled, gentle hands, she relaxed into an easy, dreamy state. When his fingers carefully kneaded the backs of her thighs, she let them fall open slightly, allowing him access to the smooth skin between. Laure felt herself drift to thinking again as she realized she was rolling her hips against his fingers. Not sure what to make of this, she froze. His hands quested no further, slipped further down her relaxing leg muscles. A low laugh slipped out of Laurelin. _Traitorous body_...

A delicate scent of musk and honey drifted into Vilkas' nose, intoxicating and too close; he was aware that his own scent was mingling with hers, accentuating the tension he suddenly felt; and he fought back those sensations until he was rigidly under control again, exhaling through his nose slowly.

"I'm not sure I should continue..."

"Why? Are you ashamed of something you're doing?" Came her muzzy-voiced reply a moment later when she realized his hands weren't continuing.

"Not exactly. But I'm not sure I should have my hands all over the mostly naked body of my brother's woman."

"While we did try _very_ hard to fuck each others brains out, I'm not _exactly_ your brother's 'woman.' You know that; otherwise you would never have touched me in the first place. And for the record, you asked me if I trusted you, and here I am, mostly naked of my own free will. So either I trust you, or I don't mind having a warm pair of hands soothe away some aches. It's a natural reaction to become a little ah, heated by it. Should I get dressed? Can you trust yourself?" she challenged over her shoulder.

He rose up, a strange expression on his handsome face, tugged her into a relaxed seated position and finished pulling and flexing all of her muscles until the last rigid bars of pain had softened. Sitting easily, her spine straight, shoulders back, Laure breathed deeply and imagined blowing the last wisps of ache from her body. With her legs crossed, and hands loose in her lap, she smiled, let her eyes flutter open.

Vilkas rolled another log into the fire, then dropped to his knees behind her, pulled her back to his warm chest. He wrapped his strong arms under hers, capturing her fingers in his square hands, laced their fingers together and began squeezing and pulling, feeling the tiny pops that signaled tension. Laurelin groaned, feeling her last shred of pain pulled away by his strong hands. He gently worked his fingertips in between each pad, flexed her hands and rolled them in his own, until they tingled lightly.

His calloused palms smoothed up her wrists and forearms in one final caressing motion, then stilled. Vilkas' warm breath whispered in her ear, tickled her jaw. Laure relaxed back against his chest, his arms wrapped around her in an easy embrace.

"Thank you; that was marvelous. It's like you knew where every ache was, and now it's gone." Laure leaned her head back to rest a moment on his shoulder, enjoying the warmth of his lean body. Vilkas seemed content to simply sit there on the floor, cradling her to his chest.

Eventually, Laure pulled herself from his arms, a content smile on her face. "I can move again! I'll never take your training for granted, brother-I am in your debt."

He pushed himself off the floor, climbed to his feet off the furs. "Not at all. Tomorrow we should train lightly. You did well enough today, but we'll need to work with you every day if you want to be able to wield a greatsword in battle. Well, I'm heading back up to Jorrvaskr; you get some more rest and I'll see you in the morning. Aye?"

"Aye, brother. Thank you for a lovely evening." Laure slipped up close to him where he was lingering by the front door, and brushed his dark stubbled cheek with her lips. A ghost of a smile flitted across his own lips, almost unseen, then he was tugging open the front door and striding slowly up the street.

Laure rolled up the furs, dropped them back under the stairs on her way up and climbed into bed. Once more the scent of Farkas warmed her dreams as she trotted across a grassy plain, nose to the wind, on the hunt once more.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen- Inner Turmoil**

Laurelin rose early, ate a quick breakfast, took care of a few chores she wanted to do. After brewing a handful of fresh healing potions, which she tucked into her pack, she grabbed her armor and headed up to Jorrvaskr. She stopped in the Bannered Mare, talked to Hulda a few moments, left a large bag of gold with the innkeeper, as a deposit on any future nights Lydia may spend there.

As she walked up the stairs to the mead hall, she could hear Vilkas' baritone voice echoing around the training yard. Making a quick decision, Laure turned left, headed up to the Skyforge. Eorland looked confused when she appeared with her armor in her arms, but realized there was nothing wrong with her kit, so he smiled and greeted her warmly.

"I want to order another set, just in case I need to repair this one."

"It might be a week before I can finish a second set, I have several orders to fill already. Do you mind waiting?"

"Not at all. I could even help maybe."

"No need for that. I'll have it done soon. Everything still fits well?'

"Perfectly, thank you. I'll come back next week and check in. Good day, Eorland." As usual, she dropped easily over the side, climbing nimbly down the rough rock face.

Vilkas nodded to her and called over, "Kodlak wished to speak with you before we did any training. Best go find out what the old man wants." Laure set her armor down and went to find Kodlak. He was in his study, reading an oft-folded and crumpled letter. He looked up when she walked in, a small furrow between his brows.

"Ah, Laurelin, always good to see you. You seem none the worse for your exercises yesterday."

"Vilkas is a wonderful teacher, and then he very kindly helped work out some of the worst knots and aches I've ever had."

"I'm sure it was very _kindly_ done, aye. I won't keep you long, but I did want to ask you something."

"Anything, Kodlak, how can I help?" She asked earnestly

"I would like you to join Vilkas, Farkas, and me in our denial of the change." Laure's blue eyes snapped wide open. "I would not ask you to do this without understanding just what I'm asking of you. It won't be easy, and it will become more difficult as time goes by. However, I believe it needn't be for long. Farkas will hopefully be back with the last few pieces of information I need. I feel I am so close to finding a cure..." His wrinkled old face had such deep longing written there, Laurelin felt tears prickling her eyes.

"Of course, I shall refrain from my change. Anything to help you in your struggles, Harbinger."

"Thank you. I know what this means and I want you to know how much I appreciate your readiness to help a sick, old man. Now get along, I'm sure Vilkas is ready to resume your training. Good day, Companion."

"Good day, Harbinger." Laure skipped out to the training yard, humming to herself as she went. Donning her armor, the pale mer thought on what Kodlak wanted of her. To deny what was now a part of her, and so soon after gaining her ability, was going to be difficult at best. To her, it felt as though she was born to hunt, to take the blood, it was such a natural extension of herself. Hefting a blunt practice sword, she went to stretch in the sun. She warmed up and practiced several hours with her shield-brother before he finally called it a day.

In spite of being worn out again, Laure felt like going out to hunt. Kodlak's request surfaced in her mind, reminding her she needed to stay close to town. She headed home, intending to soak away her aches. With a little luck, Kodlak would soon have his cure and she would be free to hunt.

Laure bathed, ate, stretched. She paced the wooden planks of her tiny house, drank several pints of mead in an effort to calm her nerves. Lydia retreated to her room when she sensed her Thane's restless mood. Every stray scent teased her sensitive nose; cries and calls from the street tickled her ears. She sat down and tried to read. Words blurred as her focus wandered to feel the feel of paper in her hands. Farkas' scent still lingered in her furs, filled the house, stirred a heat in her belly that had nothing to do with a hunger for food.

Laurelin got up and did more stretches, then sank down to meditate on the floor near the fire. As soon as her mind relaxed, the wolf leaped forward, raging to be set free. It clawed and snapped at her mind, trying to provoke her into freeing it. It howled at her and dug through her resistance, eager for the taste of fresh blood. Blood that was so near, just upstairs.

Laure opened her eyes with a stifled cry of horror. Before now she had never tried to deny her change, and it shocked her how quickly the spirit had risen up in protest. The urge to devour Lydia made her heart race, and it was quite some time before she found her calm again.

The sun had just set when Laure sat down to read. She flipped through one of the books from Vilkas. Vilkas with the same silver eyes as his brother, with his lips clamped together _kissing the hardness from his lips and eyes_ that was a dangerous thought there! She paced with the book in her hands, not reading, trying to think of other things. _His hands are gentle, so strong. Gleaming, silver-gray eyes glowed in her mind, dark hair falling over a pale brow. Finely muscled bodies stretched taught, shining with sweat. The scent of blood and the sound of racing hearts._

"By the gods, I'm going crazy, and it's been less than a day!" Laure muttered to herself. She wasn't even sure which of the brothers she had just been thinking of. Bored and unable to rest, Laurelin finally began sorting a few of the items thrown haphazardly into her chests. Still, only having random pieces of this and that, it didn't take her long before she was done with that task, standing in her room, wringing her hands together. She picked up a pile of rolled maps and stood there, not sure where to put them. She headed downstairs with a vague notion of putting them on her worktable, and Vilkas' scent drifted into her nose. Moments later, a soft knock came at her door.

Laure tucked the maps under an arm and yanked the door open as he was lowering his knuckles. His eyes looked like quicksilver in the moonlight, face freshly scrubbed. "Are you well, sister? You seem anxious."

"You were getting that all the way up at the mead hall then, sorry."

"Don't apologize. Kodlak and I were concerned for you though. I know how it is. It's like the beast suddenly knows it is caged and becomes wilder each passing moment. Are you well?"

Laure was barely aware of what he was saying. Standing there on the doorstep, he was wearing those same pants that made her blood a little hotter. _She stepped forward, scattering maps around her as she slipped into his arms, felt the hard, corded muscles of his forearms resting on her hips, hands curving over the top swell of her behind. She tilted her face up, smelling his woodsmoke and spice scent, felt his stubbled cheek brush hers. His lips softened finally, full and warm. They hovered over hers for a breath stopping moment, then lowered slowly, his brilliant eyes boring hungrily into hers..._

"Are you well?"

Laure blinked rapidly, brought herself back to reality. The betraying scent of her desire washed over both of them at that instant. Vilkas trembled slightly, suddenly dry mouthed, achingly aware of the rawness washing over him from her emotions and scent. "You had better get inside until you get a grip on yourself. He pushed her in the house and closed the door behind him. He looked down at Laure with concern and lifted the scrolled maps from her arms. She was shaking, her pupils dilated, nostrils flaring. He felt his own beast quivering just outside the rigid barrier he kept it locked behind.

With wide eyes, Laure asked her shield-brother "How...? I want to devour them all..."

"Time, patience, plenty to keep you busy. Lots of sword work." He sat down by the fire while Laure busied herself with poking and prodding it until she was satisfied with how it was arranged. "When you have yourself together, we should take a walk. It will do you good to get used to smelling it all. It helps to have someone you can talk to as well. Someone who understands what you experience."

He set the maps on the table at his elbow, trying to quell the reactions his body was having to her scent. He kept up a constant light chatter with the agitated elf while she sat down cross-legged to fletch some salvaged arrows. At first, Laure had to force herself to focus, to listen to Vilkas' stories. Slowly, she started to feel more like herself as his warm voice began taking her to places where the blood had no more pull than normal.

She got up from the floor when she was done with her arrows and poured Vilkas and herself a cup of strong Cyrodillic brandy. "A toast to your monumental patience, brother. I apologize for any unkind things I may have said about you in the past." She and Vilkas clinked the rims of their cups together, then sipped.

"No apologies are required. I realize I am a complete ass sometimes. Besides, the brandy more than makes up for it." A slight smile softened his features. When he smiled, he suddenly looked so much more like his brother. It seemed strange that identical twins should be so different in mind and body, and yet they were sometimes so alike...Laure realized she was staring intently at Vilkas, her lips still grazing the rim of the cup.

Vilkas' lips twitched up slightly, and his sidelong glance was so reminiscent of Farkas, she blinked and shifted in her chair. They sat quietly a few minutes before he straightened up, rising gracefully from his seat. "Well, shall we take that walk? You seem more in control of yourself now."

Laure nodded and tossed back the rest of her brandy, enjoying the heat that shot from her throat down to her belly and up into the back of her head. They stepped out together, walking through Whiterun at a leisurely pace, stopping every once in a while to point out a favorite star or constellation. Laure was able to take in the smells and sounds more calmly; and when they had done few turns about the city, they decided to head out for a while.

* * *

They strolled down the river, still letting Laure adjust her senses and resolve her feelings about the constant flood of sensory overload. Out on the plain, they felt more free to talk about the blood than in town, so they discussed it at length. Vilkas couldn't hide his bitterness when he talked of his own experiences.

"Farkas and I had just come of age when the blood was offered to us. Farkas, he was excited by it, and so was I, but for different reasons. I saw the Inner Circle opened before me and all the glories of the hunt beckoning. I saw myself bringing new honor to the name of the Companions, the chance to be more than just a man...it was an intoxicating notion."

"I'm sure the ladies loved being ravished by a fierce beast of a lover." Laure quipped lightly as they loitered by the river.

Vilkas scowled. "Actually, it's a rare thing to find a woman who understands and can share that with you-me. Our kind. I'm still looking for that woman." He kicked a rock into the river. "For years we thought it naught but a gift, and then the old man discovered the truth and I learned I was promised to the hunt for eternity. It's a terrible moment to learn your hopes for the afterlife amount to ash in a cold hearth."

"So will you cure yourself if we find one, then?"

"I think I would like to finally get some rest, have dreams that don't involve so much blood and flesh. Aye, a cure sounds like a release I would welcome."

"What if you could hunt again after Kodlak finds his cure. Are you going to refrain after?"

"I admit I would like to go on one last hunt, aye." His eyes closed as he imagined one final, heady hunt with the wolf inside. Laure caught a whiff of his scent, and her own response was a rapid increase in her heartbeat; the surge of blood swelled through her veins, made her salivate in hunger.

Vilkas eyes snapped open, bright and intent. "You're going to give us no end of trouble come the full moons."

Laurelin laughed, low and musical. "What makes you say that, brother?" She playfully kicked at his shin, then turned and loped back toward the city.

"Oh, just a feeling I get," he called to her back. _Damn, was she running on purpose? She should know to never run from a predator._ Against his better judgment, he raced off after her, quickly retaking some of the distance she had on him, his long legs flashing in the moonlight, hair pushed back in the wind, chasing after a laugh, the scent of honey, smoke and spices.

They arrived at Whiterun's gates in a laughing, breathless rush, both crying out, "I win!" Calming himself quickly, Vilkas smoothed his hair back off his brow. Laure reached over and tugged a lock back down.

"I like it a little unkempt. Makes you look more approachable." He stared up as best he could at the offending curl of hair, then back at her.

"I'm approachable-" Laure stifled a giggle and nodded solemnly "-sometimes," he added with a touch of self mocking.

"Would you like anything to drink?" she asked softly. He shook his head and stepped back.

"I'm heading home. I'll be there, if you need someone to talk to." His hand stole up and cupped her cheek, feeling her silky soft skin under his hard, calloused fingertips. "Get some rest; we should practice more tomorrow."

"Thank you. I feel like you saved me earlier. You should get some sleep too. I'll see you soon."

Vilkas pulled his hand from her cheek, stood there a moment as if undecided, then bowed deeply.

"Goodnight, Laurelin. Sleep well." He turned and strolled quickly up the street, passed from Laure's sight. With a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, she went inside and climbed up to her room, where she collapsed into her bed with a groan. All in all, she felt like she was making a proper ass of herself with her reactions to the blood, but she hoped to be able to contain the worst of it, and soon. As she drifted off to sleep, she kept remembering Vilkas' scent and the feelings she had in response. _Nocturnal preserve me! Was I really fantasizing about making a move on Vilkas? Vilkas?_ She drifted to sleep with his name echoing in her head, and for the first time in days, Farkas' rich scent wasn't the the one that filled her dreams. That smell belonged to another shield-brother.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen- Questions and Answers**

Laure twisted fitfully in the furs long hours after her first pleasant dream slunk away to be replaced by a tiny, naked Bosmer watching her dragon soul and wolf spirit tearing into each other while she watched helplessly, unable to stop them._ She rushed between, trying to placate each one, but she only succeeded in being shoved down and trampled. Using all her will, she gathered enough air to cry out, "Enough!" Dragon and wolf swiveled burning gazes her way, and they finally noted her weak state. Turning on her, they dove into her body, ravaged her mind gleefully._

_"You!" they shrieked in her head. "We will not be contained. To deny us is to be devoured. There will be no mercy if you are false with yourself!"_

_"I must deny you! There is too much else...I'm...not false!"_

_"You deceive yourself when you deny us!"_

_"We will not be ruled by you if you deny us!" They resumed eating her from the inside out, tearing great, bleeding gobbets from her, drinking her essence. Helpless, Laurelin wailed, trying to hold closed the gaping rents they opened inside her, feeling ready to burst. Her bones ached; her head was pounding._

_"Relent. Give over the pain; I will ease it all!" crooned her beast as it tore another mouthful free and swallowed it whole. She didn't have enough hands to hold it all in and fight them off._

_"No!" urged her dragon soul. "You are better than a beast. I have the power to offer you true release!" Wings flapped with a head-jarring crack. Beast and dragon launched themselves at each other once again, roiling together in combat. Still the wolf taunted._

_"Already you weaken. Do you feel your bones shifting, moon sister?"_

_"I won't!"_

_"It calls to you, the smell of blood."_

_"Be silent!"_

_"Never, blood calls to blood, sister. You were meant to spill it."_

_"I said be SILENT!"_

Laure screamed in shock when an arm curled around her, pulling her close into a comforting embrace. She struggled for a moment, trying to fight off the beast that was so close to devouring her mind. A soft soothing voice whispered in her ear.

"You are not the beast. Own it, dominate it, and it will bend." Laure sobbed raggedly. _Not the beast. I am Laurelin, chosen of Nocturnal and Dragonborn. I am not the beast; it is but a portion of me._ It became a litany in her mind, repeating until she had calmed. Vilkas' warm voice calmed and soothed, while his fingers stroked her hair, and she snuggled deeper into his safe, comforting embrace. Laure finally opened her eyes. The candles had nearly gone out, casting deep shadows over her room. Lydia stood near her open door, anxiously shifting from foot to foot, hand on sword pommel.

"I'm fine, Lydia; go back to bed." Laure pushed sweaty hair from her eyes.

"Are you sure? That all sounded pretty intense."

"Aye, I'll not be going back to sleep anytime soon, but I'll be fine. It was just a dream." Lydia shrugged and turned back to her room.

Laurelin rested her head against Vilkas' warm chest, drawing his comforting arms tighter about her like a blanket. "Did Lydia let you in?"

"I would have beat the door down if she hadn't. You were on the brink when I found you."

"Thank you. Again. Are we making a habit of this? While having a handsome man comfort me isn't entirely unpleasant, I'd rather not have the nightmares. Would you stay and talk to me, or is that too much to ask?" She pressed herself closer, breathing in his woodsmoke and steel scent.

"Of course I'll stay. Believe it or not, it helps calm my own spirit to be able to share a little of the burden with someone. Oh, I could talk with Farkas or Aela, but they just don't see and feel it the same way."

"I'm not sure I'm the best influence right now, brother." Laurelin shifted in Vilkas' embrace and stretched her legs out. The residual tatters of her dreams clouded her tired mind; the beast, though still for the moment, waited in the recesses of her thoughts. It remained caged but as feral as ever before.

"Nonsense. We Companions look out for each other. Would you like to go on another walk? We can even hunt, if you like."

"We could? Oh, I would love that, but what if I become, ah, hard to manage again?" Her blue eyes wide, she craned her head up to meet his.

"Of course. I think getting out and letting a little of your energy out will do you good. Plainly I'm not working you hard enough in the practice yard. Do you have a spare bow I could use? I know of a few problematic bear dens not far away. We can take care of a few jobs on my list, make some coin, and hopefully distract your inner beast a bit. What do you say?"

"That sounds divine, brother. I have a spare bow in that trunk there. Nice elven piece I picked up but never use. Help yourself." Laure untangled herself from Vilkas, then struggled into her leathers. Vilkas drew the bow, tested the draw, gave an approving nod, and shouldered it smoothly.

"Let's get going, shall we?"

Laurelin slipped on her boots and snagged the inky length of her Nightingale bow, extra quiver, and her small pack. They crept out the front door, quietly strode through the gates, noses lifted, eyes gleaming. Prey was always nearby.

* * *

Laure and Vilkas hunted bears until well past daybreak. Laure was glad she had brought the small pack; they had both needed some stitching up and a liberal dose of her healing magic, but they were content with the night's work.

Vilkas bumped her shoulder with his as they walked up the slope to Whiterun. "That will be a tale to tell the grandchildren. The night you went out and tracked and killed a full score of bears."

"There were not a score of bears. We got maybe eight of them between us. Remember, it took some time to travel and stalk them."

"See the tale is already growing."

"Well, I will be sure to tell it to the children and grandchildren when next they make the long journey from Valenwood." Laurelin replied tartly.

"I forget you actually have grandchildren you could tell stories to. It's odd to us humans. You seem very young and vital. Hardly a wrinkle to be seen." He teased gently.

"You might not tease if you knew how many loved ones I've been parted from over the years." She laughed a little sadly, her eyes focused far away. "Sorry, brother, pay me no mind. Most of the time, I don't feel the full stretch of the many, long years. I have been blessed. Overall, my life has been full of wonder and joy. I...lost myself when my mate died. Many years are dark in my mind, where I have little recollection of where I was. What I did. But those days ended long ago." She smiled over at her shield-brother.

Vilkas listened quietly as she talked. She had a beautiful speaking voice, even when she was cursing like an Argonian fisherman. "I'm sorry if I brought up a sensitive subject, Laurelin. I meant no disrespect."

"None taken. Let's get back to Breezehome and get cleaned up. Bear is pungent enough without letting it sit on your skin all day."

They washed up, ate a little, and headed up to Jorrvaskr. In the training yard, they resumed their slow, methodical dance, with blades flashing in the sun. The afternoon light was thin, and long, slanted beams glared in their eyes, catching brightly on the sweat on their faces when they finally decided to stop. They put their practice swords away and jogged down to Breezehome without a word spoken.

Laure was becoming more attuned to Vilkas' moods as she practiced with him. She was beginning to realize much of his harshness was rooted in his deep need to control his inner rage, the beast that always threatened violence. Much of his broodiness could be attributed to the pain of denying his wolf spirit the freedom it was made for._ Not all_, she mused to herself as she unlocked the front door. _However, I certainly understand a little better what he goes through. Not to mention Kodlak, who sees his horizon drawing ever nearer._

After washing up, Laure, Vilkas, an Lydia made a simple dinner, then sat around the fire, telling story after story. Sore from the last few days' practice and lack of rest, an exhausted Bosmer sat close to the fire while she cleaned her armor, listening to her strong-minded Nord friends argue about ancient history, commenting occasionally herself. While she worked, she let the fierce heat of the fire soften the aches in her stiff body, relatively at ease for the time being.

Lydia couldn't help but notice how much easier Vilkas smiled when her Thane was around. She had known Vilkas her whole life. Never had she seen him follow a woman with his eyes the way he did with Laurelin. _And he's been here quite a bit with his brother out of town. I hope there isn't bloodshed when he gets back. I'd hate to have to run anyone through. Especially since Vilkas has been remarkably helpful these last few days. Something has been bothering my Thane, and whatever it is, he seems able to calm her. I think the big one is too much of a distraction for her. Not that she doesn't deserve a little fun..._ Eventually, Lydia retreated to her room, leaving Laurelin and Vilkas quietly reading and sipping wine by the fire.

With moonrise came the restlessness. Vilkas caught her shifting about on the floor, stretching her toes to the fire, drawing them back, laying out flat. Sitting back up. Rolling her shoulders. Fingers drumming on the stone floor. Finally he closed his book. Clearing his throat, he asked, "How are you doing?"

"Well enough I suppose. My legs ache. That felt like a damn good training session to my calves."

"I've been meaning to ask you, where did you get the wicked, long scar from calf to ankle?" He queried.

"That one I got for sticking a leg in a live dragon's mouth, I guess. Everything happens incredibly fast when I'm fighting a dragon. A word of advice: don't even _think_ about jumping on a live one. Bad things happen. I could have bled out and been gone in moments. I was so out of it, I couldn't heal myself. My old lover saved my sorry ass."

"The world owes this person a debt of gratitude, Dragonborn."

"Don't pull that out on me. If not me then the Gods would have chosen some other person. Tell me, do you think the gods toy with us much? It seems pretty ironic that Nords all over Skyrim are singing about a Dragonborn who isn't even of their race. I am after all, just a mer."

"Whatever reason the gods may have for what they do, it is not my place to question. While I do believe they manipulate mortals for their amusement, I think there was a _very_ specific purpose to you being the first Dragonborn in long ages. Maybe the Gods chose you because you _are_ mer. There needs to be a healing of the land. I love a fight as much as the next Nord, but I can still see quite clearly how direly we are in peril of a lasting war. Our country, all of Tamriel, sunk into deepest woe-we have already drunk so deeply of that bitter cup. You offer hope of something beyond the grief and anger."

"How am I to stop a war? I can't even tame myself."

"You will have all the help that can be given. I suspect you will be surprised by the support you will be offered. You need only accept."

Laurelin thought about what he had said and realized how right he was. People _had_ been overwhelmingly supportive. It seemed many of the people of Skyrim wanted a figure to rally behind. Someone who represented no political faction, religion, or race. Just a person to give them that necessary boon of hope.

Her gaze swiveled his way. "Be a good minion and rub my back?"

"Aye, but in return I want you to tell me what you know of the Wild Hunt."

"You would ask about that, wouldn't you?" She scooted over and rested her back against his legs. His hand stroked her hair to the side, revealing her lovely neck, with the visible reminders of her encounter with his brother still very much evident. His fingers tightened slightly on her shoulder, then clasped her upper arms, using his thumbs to push forward against her shoulder blades, flexing her shoulders back, then forward.

"None of the other Bosmer I know are willing to talk about it. I asked Elrindir about it one time and he didn't speak to me for a moon's turn at least." His hands still on her shoulders, he lifted them high for a half a breath, then pulled them down low when she exhaled.

"Well, you have been honest with me about the blood we share, so the least I can do is tell you about the Bosmer people's most sordid, shameful secret ability..."

Laurelin drifted, her head pillowed on Vilkas leg, his fingers idly traced through her hair as he leaned back, his eyes closed. Her own fingertips were lazily brushing across the skin of his inner wrist, raising little prickles behind her warm fingers. She finally roused herself to quietly announce, "I name you first among the Minions of the Dragonborn. Continue to serve me well and your rewards will be uncountable." She smiled as she looked back and up at his relaxed form.

"This humble mercenary is honored to accept a life of servitude in your name. How may I be of service next?"  
His sleepy, amused tone tickled Laurelin somehow. It wasn't often she was able to see him this relaxed. She then realized her wolf spirit had lain quiet the entire time she talked of the Wild Hunt and later of her family back in Valenwood. Was it just waiting, or was she learning the trick to calming it? And how much of that is tied into Vilkas, she wondered as she drifted to sleep.

"Just, stay a while longer."

* * *

Lydia stopped halfway down the stairs, hand flying up to cover her mouth. Dawn was just arriving outside, but she could clearly see her Thane, sitting back to back with Vilkas, sleeping quietly. Their heads were resting on each others shoulders, foreheads together, legs crossed at the ankles with their knees pulled up to their chests. It was maybe the most endearing thing Lydia had ever seen. She started to creep back up the stairs but they both stirred at an untimely creak of the boards.

"It's okay, Lydia, I think we're awake. Mercy, I should have had you carry me upstairs, Vilkas. What kind of minion are you to not anticipate my every whim?" she groused playfully, pushing herself over to lie flat on the floor a few moments."

"A very sorry, inconsiderate, terribly stiff minion-" he began.

"That's more than I need to hear!" announced Lydia as she came downstairs to begin breakfast.

"No, tell me more!" Laurelin grinned up at the ceiling.

"Ysmr's beard, not like that! Get your minds out of the sewers, women!" Vilkas muttered as he rolled over onto his belly with a quiet groan.

"You let your minions talk to you like that, my Thane?" Lydia wondered aloud.

"You should be glad I'm so tolerant. Zest for life and all that rubbish."

They broke their fast together. Vilkas was heading back up to the mead hall, there being jobs he needed to assign, and Laure decided to go for a swim. She felt the need to just float for a while, and Lydia would go with her. Laurelin promised to be back at Jorrvaskr later for a bit of training. She walked out of Whiterun, whistling until a curious glance from Lydia made her ask "What?"

"Nothing, my Thane. Where are we headed?"

"I know of a nice little spot near Riverwood. Who knows, maybe we can bring home some fresh salmon!"

When they finally stepped back into Whiterun several hours later, Laurelin's sensitive nose caught the familiar scent of Farkas. She dropped a half a dozen salmon into her housecarl's arms and called over her shoulder, "I'll be back soon, and I can skin those later, or we can roast them skin on." Laure jogged up to Jorrvaskr and was soon pushing into its main hall. His scent seemed to lead straight downstairs and not come up, so she dropped over the railing and yanked open the door, only to run right up against Farkas, who reached out and steadied her.

* * *

Farkas finished with Kodlak and went to change and wash up. It felt good to be home again, with all the familiar faces, scents, and sounds. After he was done shaving his neck—he was pretty sure Laure liked his whiskers tidier than he usually kept them—he would go drag his brother out of whatever corner he was brooding in and they would practice together. _Maybe by then Laure will be back...of course the old man needed her help before._ But first things first. He hadn't eaten all day. Leaving his room he ambled down the long hall, wondering how long it would take two people to read all those books.

He went to grab the handle, but the door flew open before he could blink, and Laurelin ran smack into his chest as she plunged through the door at the bottom of the stairs. Her arms wrapped around him and squeezed him tight.

"Careful there, killer, I bruise easy!" He rumbled into her hair. She felt like a dream in his arms, smelled of the river, cool, and vibrantly alive. And something else, a faint trace of woodsmoke and his brother. Coming around the city, he had caught several faint traces of their mixed scents crossing and recrossing the road. By the lingering hints he got, they had been hunting as man and mer. He couldn't help but appreciate how having Laure around drew his brother out. He knew his brother liked having people to talk to, but lately had spent so much time...pent up with no one but himself. Vilkas was lonely and needed someone other than his twin to confide in. Try as he might, Farkas could only shoulder so much for his brother before he was locked out too. And the beast inside him was just not as troublesome as Vilkas'. Yes, it was good that his older brother was maybe coming to terms with his inner turmoil. Laure was easy to be around, even his surly twin was coming to see that.

"Ha, I know better now. How was your trip?" Her enormous blue eyes sparkled up at him happily.

"Other than a blizzard that slowed me down, it was smooth and easy. Hey, Kodlak was hoping you could help him go through that mess I brought back, but after that, we should get a drink. I'll mull the mead." He almost suggested another bath, but decided against it. A voice that sounded like his brother told him that would be "tactless."

"That sounds fantastic. I'll find you later."

"Look for me in the training yard." He _almost_ offered to help them read through the piles of stiff old books and faded scrolls. Something about her made him want to read more. She made being smart kind of sexy and fun. His rumbling stomach reminded him that he had to eat, and soon.

She brushed his smiling lips with a soft kiss and slid down the hall. He stood in the doorway, smelling her still, heard her greet the old man, and finally he moved upstairs. He reminded himself of his plan to practice more. He knew where his strengths were and they weren't his smarts. But being—he could admit it to himself—somewhat smitten with a woman did that to a man, made him venture out of his comfort he would pick up that last book he'd borrowed from Vllkas and finish it finally. Fortunately, his brother was just outside and would help him focus. But first, breakfast!

* * *

After many hours, Kodlak and Laurelin were fairly sure they had the answer he needed so badly. Their combined excitement was tempered by the understanding that they still needed to obtain some very rare items, and they had no assurance the remedy would work. But it was something. Laurelin agreed to leave at first light, and took her leave of the old man with a kiss to his cheek.

The sun had already set by the time Laure stepped out of Jorrvaskr, yawning into the back of her hand as she looked around for Farkas or Vilkas. They were nowhere to be found. She blew out a long, tired breath and turned toward home. Something told her that was where she would find them.

Sure enough, the twins and Lydia were sitting in her house, nattering to each other about inconsequential things over tankards of ale. Lydia uncovered a plate of leftovers and poured some mead, while Laure washed her hands. "Well, it looks like I'm heading out tomorrow. I should be able to get where I'm going in a day or so. I'll hurry back; Kodlak is eager for his answers."

"As we all are," Vilkas said quietly.

They shared a few drinks before Laurelin walked them both out. "I need to try to get some rest before I travel; you have my apologies for rudely kicking you out so early, but I promise we'll all raise plenty of tankards in celebration when I come back!" She gave them each a peck on the cheek and a warm embrace, and smiled as she closed the door.

The twins looked at each other across the width of her reed door mat. Vilkas finally rolled his eyes to the road, made a slight gesture with his chin, indicating they should get moving. Farkas shrugged and followed his older brother, a thoughtful look on his rugged face.

* * *

Farkas followed his twin up the hill, his bright eyes on the armored back of his brother. Some people liked to say he wasn't smart. He could accept that. It didn't, however, make him dumb or dense. He simply thought things through and observed. "Did something happen between you and Laure while I was gone?"

Vilkas ground to a stop ahead of him, foot on the top steps before Jorrvaskr. He dropped his head back to stare at the sky a moment. Farkas stepped up next to his brother, waiting.

"Laurelin was having some issues with the blood." Vilkas whispered softly. "Kodlak has asked her to join us and she agreed to deny her change. Her response was immediate and troublesome at best. We went out hunting a few times, sat up all night talking." He hesitated a moment then added, "I gave her a body rub after a long day in the training yard. She could barely move, but she was being stubborn. It was painful to watch her hobbling around."

"Well, okay. I guess that explains why your scent was all over her house. When I smelled you both out on the plain I figured it was the other way around."

"I confess it helped me, kept me calmer and more focused. I think her dragon soul fights the wolf, Farkas. Her dreams were washing all the way up here, woke the old man and me up. It was unbelievably powerful."

"Some souls should never be caged. Are you surprised that her response was so desperate? What?" Vilkas was giving him a strange look.

"Nothing. Let's go inside. Tell me about this mighty blizzard that drove you into hiding." He clapped his hand on his younger brother's shoulder and shoved him through the door into the warmth and comfort of the mead hall.

* * *

Something about the conversation Vilkas had with his brother outside Jorrvaskr lingered in the back of his thoughts while they drank. Finally he excused himself and when downstairs, rapped lightly at Kodlak's door.

"Come in, Vilkas," the old man's voice called out. Letting himself in, he greeted the Harbinger with a respectful bow and sat down next to his gray-haired mentor.

"I think asking the Dragonborn to deny her blood may be a mistake." He began without preamble. "Something Farkas said just struck me. I realized that with her dragon soul, the ones she has absorbed as well, all are in conflict with her inner wolf. I think we need to trust her to work it out on her own. What she is up against, we don't know; but it isn't helping her, or us for that matter, to have her incapacitated by the chains she feels now." He blew a long breath out when he was finished, waiting for the old man to say...anything, actually.

Kodlak was staring intently at his younger shield-brother. He had come to that same conclusion just this afternoon. "I find I agree with you. Perhaps when she returns from her journey to Falkreath, we will have a chat about it. I'm sure some sort of arrangement can be made. Now go seek what rest you may; there is work tomorrow."

"Isn't there always work? Good night, Harbinger. You should rest too. Pacing and reading all night won't bring her back any faster." Vilkas quietly closed the door, then made his way to his own chamber, where he paced and read into the wee hours of the morning before lying down. Vilkas as usual wasn't able to take his own good advice.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen- Purity of Revenge**

Laurelin left before daybreak, her wolf armor jingling softly as she jogged through the gates. The guards nodded to her as she went by, and soon she was traveling along the plain, skirting the mountains; she then cut south around the end of Lake Illinalta toward the cavern where the Glenmoril Witches lurked and plotted. She traveled more quickly by herself. While she adored her shield-siblings, and in spite of several of them spending time "hunting" in the wilds, most were not as swift and agile as she. They also had a near perverse attachment to the roads, sticking to those as much as possible. When traveling on two feet, anyway.

Also being by far the stealthiest, Laure was able to avoid a half a dozen fights she had no wish to start and then need to finish. Finishing a fight took time; so did healing, and she was in a hurry for more than one reason. By combining her stealth and her enhanced sense of smell she was able to avoid any major confrontations, though it took her far out of her way at times. Being out again, her wolf spirit once more subsided, content with the sounds and smells she allowed it through her senses.

She loped on steadily through the night; finally near dawn, she climbed a tall, forked pine and curled herself up to sleep for a few hours, bow in hand. Later that morning, she dropped lightly from her makeshift bed and continued on southwest. She could smell the cool, green scent of the lake and a far off sawmill as she traveled. Soon she had hiked herself to where she estimated the cave to be from the maps she had studied.

Laurelin paused and let her nose and mind sift through all the scents, searching for direction. With her eyes closed, she could almost taste the smells-warm, loamy earth crawling with worms and bugs; the sharp pungency of pine and fir needles; deer and foxes everywhere, crisscrossing the footpaths; decomposing wood and mulch piled high under trees. She sniffed again, dismissing the everyday smells that layered everything nearby, looking deeper.

Soon the tell-tale smell of age-old filth pulled her toward a high, rocky dale. Dead trees sprawled gracelessly along a stony path. Some of the source of the stench emanated from several piles of refuse scattered near the torch-lit entrance. It was early afternoon, and the pale flames seemed weak and smelled rancid. Wrinkling her nose, Laure stalked silently in, poison-tipped arrows ready to fly.

* * *

She gasped in relief as she flopped down on the clean grass far from the tainted stench of the cave several hours later. A lumpy sack thudded wetly to the ground as Laurelin took stock of the damages. In spite of the witches' claims of, "Your blood is ours, Companion," she had made it out more or less unharmed. At least not too seriously. The witches' claws had done little to her armor, but her face still felt pink and tight from the fire the two she had been unable to take by stealth threw at her. Fortunately, she had picked up several pieces of jewelry to protect her from fire, so she had been only lightly scalded rather than charred. She sat and recovered her breath, called up her simple healing spell to take away the sting of the burns and the scratches on her cheeks and throat.

Eying the bag with a scowl, she dug a piece of dried salmon from her pack and chewed on that while she wrapped the burlap sack containing five witch heads in a deerskin. She tied the bundle up with a strip of cat gut, then slung the heavy thing over her shoulders. As she retraced her steps north, she hoped—dearly hoped—these repellent heads were the answer Kodlak and Vilkas sought

It was late the next afternoon when Laurelin at last saw Whiterun in the distance. She looked behind her, but the large, shaggy dog that had followed her for miles had finally wandered off—hopefully to pester someone who wanted a talking daedric mutt. The wolf inside her had snarled to be set free so she could tear the pathetic whining thing to shreds, but Laure herself just shook her head and told the dog to go make nice with his master, in no mood to introduce that kind of farce into her life.

With Whiterun in sight, she forced her exhausted body into a jog, then a sprint, eyes flitting to the sky occasionally, but mostly fixed on the comfortable bulk of the city ahead

When she reached the front gates, they had already been pulled open so she could rush right through. The call of, "Hail, Companion" came as expected but was tinged with a certain hesitancy and sadness. Not sure what to make of their greeting and eager to get the heads to Kodlak, Laure dropped her travel pack inside the door of Breezehome and raced through the Plains District at top speed, the bag over her shoulder bouncing and swaying heavily.

She slid to a halt at the top of the stairs leading to the Winds District. In the early evening dimness, Laure could see the milling figures of many of the townsfolk and guards, leaning over to murmur to each other in hushed voices, looking at several bodies strewn carelessly on the ground.

The smell washed over her then, -_how did I not notice that stench before?_-a feral growl rumbling low in her chest. _Silver Hand_! The smell of blood and fear was everywhere, rank and sharp in her nose. What had happened? Aela and Torvar stood on the steps leading up to Jorrvaskr, slain Silver Hand underfoot, warily looking about. Laurelin nodded shortly to them both as she dashed up the stairs. With a quick prayer she pushed the heavy doors open.

Vilkas turned from where he stood inside the door, his pale eyes burning with fury and grief. "Where have you been?" he shouted, gauntleted fists clenched tight at his sides.

Laurelin blanched in the face of this unveiled rage. "Out on an errand for Kodlak! You know that! What happened?"

Vilkas' eyes narrowed and he stepped aside. There on the floor was Kodlak, lifeless on the worn planks. Planks that would never know his step again. _Oh, Kodlak! We were so close_... Helpless sorrow clenched in a seething knot in Laurelin's belly. It reached up its choking tentacles, which wrapped around her throat, cutting off the sob that tried to escape. Hot tears threatened to spill, but she did not dishonor him by crying like a whelp. Instead she remembered. Stored the details, like Njada, stroking his hand with trembling fingers. There was Farkas, cross-legged on the floor near the old man's head, his dark hair falling over his eyes as he stared wordlessly at his friend and mentor.

Taking a deep breath, her eyes flitted around, noting Athis and Ria, both injured on floor, being tended by Tilma and Brill. Laurelin's slender hands flew to her forehead, pushing her sweaty hair from her disbelieving eyes. Laure felt Vilkas' rage and grief simmering in her own heart as Farkas glanced up at her with stricken eyes, then returned his glistening stare to Kodlak

She turned to Vilkas. "How? How did this happen? Why didn't I hear you call?" she cried out.

Vilkas stepped near, his voice low and lethal. "Did you think the Silver Hand would not retaliate? After you and Aela went on a bloody fucking killing spree to 'avenge' Skjor? Kodlak worried that they would someday dig up the courage to attack Jorrvaskr; they always had numbers against us if nothing else. Well they finally did, as they were facing total fucking annihilation at your wise hands! You and that other bitch out there forced their hand. You should have at least been here to help protect your family."

"You're being irrational, Vilkas. You know I was out on a job for Kodlak. He specifically asked me to go on this one, and I hurried there and back, as fast as I could run, truly. I'm... I am unbelievably sorry I wasn't here. If I was, maybe things would have been different, but I honestly couldn't get here any faster than I did!"

He was calming slightly, breathing slowly through clenched teeth. "Be that as it may, you and Aela brought this down on us. Furthermore, a few escaped and the cursed cowards stole the fragments of Wuuthrad!"

Laurelin glanced to the placard where the shards of the ax Wuuthrad normally hung over the stairs and sure enough, every sliver was gone. "They must have climbed the walls. There is no way the guards would have let the bastards through. How many got away?"

"At least three, maybe more; I'm not sure if they had lookouts anywhere outside of the city yet. You and I are going to get the fragments back. Feel free to reap your bloody vengeance on any of them we meet." His nostrils flared, lips curled; he was ready to hunt at last.

Laurelin felt the pain of trying to deny this raging moment. _Actually, I won't deny this one at all. I know we were right to try to eliminate them. Farkas said after Dustman's it was them or us. Oh yes, hunt them we shall_. Stifling the beginning of her own change with an extreme effort, her pale-blue eyes met his silver-gray, barely controlled fury in both pairs. "Oh my, you say such sweet things, brother. When do we leave?"

"I was thinking now would be appropriate. Don't you agree, sister?" Vilkas was excessively polite. It was hard to control, with the smell of Kodlak's blood still raw in their noses, adding to the bitter humiliation of being overwhelmed in their stronghold.

"Oh, yes indeed." growled Laurelin. She dropped to her knees at Kodlak's side, let her lips sadly kiss his wrinkled cheek one last time. "I'll sing the songs when we return, Harbinger." Her grief and fury caused her hands to shake as she straightened up, taking one last look at his armored, still form.

Laurelin and Vilkas ran through Whiterun, pounding down the many steps, covering the distance to Breezehome in a dozen heartbeats. They slid to a halt and then slipped through into the warmth of her tiny house.

"Honored to see you my Thane!" called Lydia from upstairs.

_Probably eating in my room again,_ thought Laure. "Lydia, I need you to empty one of those barrels under the stairs and put these heads in with some brine."

"You want me to _what_ now? My Thane?" Lydia cursed softly and called, "I'll be right down." She dropped lightly over the railing and strolled over, looked in the bag and grimaced. "Wow. Pretty. Sure you don't want one on the mantle?"

"We don't have a mantle now, do we? Just pickle the damn things in one of the barrels. Seal it up tight. There is money for salt and vinegar in the kettle. Buy yourself something pretty if you like."

"I don't want anything pretty."

"Then get yourself something sharp! I don't have time for this, I have to leave-tonight. Take care of everything while I'm gone; hopefully I'll be back in a few days." The pale elf was emptying her bag on the floor in the middle of the kitchen. She quickly selected a few things she wanted, stuffing them into the pack, left the rest on the floor where it fell. She then bounded upstairs, rummaged through baskets, selecting arrows, grabbed a number of enchanted rings from her dresser, and was dropping over the rail herself. "Need anything?" she asked Vilkas, who was buckling on his own travel pack and gear.

"Aye, let's get going." He gestured toward the door. Laure grabbed her sleeping roll as they dashed out, slipping her arms through the straps of her pack.

The guards at the front gate pulled it open and saluted, "Hail Companions!" Vilkas and Laurelin split up once out of the gates, he to check over by Jorrvaskr for scent trails, she going to loop around and look for more of the same. They would meet up and decide where to go after that.

They circled the city, stalking about, using keen noses to gain precious information, and they were rewarded. When they met up slightly north of the city, they conferred a brief moment and wheeled about, noses following three converging trails that led north into the mountains.

Without halting, the two ran until their legs would carry them no further. Laurelin and Vilkas made a cold camp, falling into their furs, resting back to back, blades near their hands. It was dangerous to sleep without a watch posted, but they were both exhausted, and woe to any enemy who tried anything with these two. They rested their bodies in the few pale hours before dawn, then the restlessness and anger brought them swiftly out of the furs. Neither one of them wanted to let the trail go cold, and their quarry was mounted on horseback with many hours' lead.

Around midday, high up in the snowy hills, a sudden snowstorm blotted out the trail, leaving Laurelin and Vilkas short-tempered as they ranged far and wide, trying to relocate the the trail. As it grew dark, they finally decided to resume in the morning, as both were weak, famished, and out of focus. They built a small, hot fire in the broken remnants of a long-forgotten watchtower and forced themselves to eat. Grief threatened to overwhelm them if they allowed it, killed the urge to eat or smile.

"We'll find the trail in the morning, sister. We must keep our heads though; when we find them we can't go rushing heedlessly in like they undoubtedly want us to."

Laure watched a piece of wood shift in the fire, watched the sparks rise up through the slowly falling snowflakes. "I'm sorry, Vilkas. Kodlak was like a father to you, aye?" She huddled in her furs, perched on an old crate pulled up close to the flames.

"More than anyone else. He taught Farkas and me everything a father is supposed to teach a son. Without Kodlak, I don't know what kind of man I would have become. Had I even lived." He brushed a dusting of snow from his uncovered head, staring into the flames as well. Finally he tore his gaze from the fire, met Laurelin's over the leaping flames. "Laurelin, I spoke with anger the other day and let myself say things I shouldn't have-"

"You told but the truth, Vilkas."

"Don't interrupt me, I'm trying to apologize for being an ass again."

"There is no need; you were forgiven instantly. I know it was the rage and grief speaking those things. And I deserved it. Every word. I am the one who is sorry. I should never have let my emotions overcome myself like I did. Can you forgive me?"

"Aye, you are forgiven. At least he was given one final battle, and he died with his sword in his hand. He didn't want the rot to be what took him." He passed her a wineskin, paced a bit. Laure sipped the wine, passed it back. Soon he began telling a ridiculous tale that Laure was hardly able to believe. With her eyes closed, she listened to his sonorous baritone lifted up in thrall of his story; but she was drifting comfortably close to sleep, huddled in her furs.

Vilkas finally noticed her closed eyes and decided she was probably asleep, so he announced, "So then Dibella herself told me I was handsome, and she wanted to carry my children!"

Laure roused herself at this and laughed. "Dibella huh? I always thought her type was seven feet tall, with blue eyes, blonde hair, hung like a stallion and completely witless."

"Ah, you were paying attention!" He dropped down beside her on the crate, his hands stretched out to the flames.

"Sorry, dear one, only to the last part," Laure regretfully announced

"I thought so. You aren't having second thoughts, are you?"

"Are you?" she queried back.

"None." he replied softly, staring balefully into the flames.

Laure leaned her head on his shoulder."Nor me. I'm rather enjoying the thought of seeing the Silver Hand piss themselves in fear before we spill their life out with our blades."

"Well said, sister." His fingers slid under the sabre-cat pelt, seeking the warmth of her hand. Fingers entwined they stared into the fire, each absorbed in private ruminations. It didn't matter so much the subject. The trust they were learning to share, a bond now felt, meant more than breath for the moment.

* * *

Laurelin ended up resorting to magic to find their destination. Hours earlier she and Vilkas had set out again, seeking _any_ clues. They had ranged in a wide, flat spiral, trying to pick up any trace of their enemy. Vilkas tried not to scowl as Laurelin had to repeatedly cast a spell that showed her the path they were after. As neither she nor Vilkas knew their final destination, the last miles were ever more tedious and trying.

Finally they both picked up a scent they recognized, cold silver, blood and fear mixing together and drifting out of a nearby ruin. They quickly donned the rest of their armor—a peculiar, chilly comfort to both. The two shield-siblings clasped forearms like warriors, both sets of pale eyes gleaming out of fearsome warpaint.

"For vengeance!" he snarled quietly, eager to finish the job.

"For honor, brother." He nodded and they broke apart and slid into the frigid refuge of the Silver Hand. With cold determination, the two Companions blended into the shadows, erupting out again to slay every foe who crossed their path.

Laurelin swiftly learned what a powerful fighter Vilkas was. All of his fiery anger was channeled into his precise blows and blocks. He acted as an anchor for Laure, who would dash in and out of reach of her foes, using her speed and dexterity, infuriating them with taunts and jests, drawing them closer to Vilkas and his glittering, gory blade.

Working in magnificent tandem, Laurelin and Vilkas slaughtered their way through the twisted halls and jumbled rooms, leaving none alive behind them. The shield siblings swept through the meager resistance of the Silver Hand with grimly delighted ease.

When they found a living werewolf caged in one of the larger caverns, the delight ended. All attempts to communicate with him brought them nothing. It listlessly stared at them through the bars, defeated, lost, and broken. That is until Laurelin went to test the lock, and the caged werewolf lunged forward snarling, causing her to jump back. The scent of it's fears washed over the two Companions. It was plainly terrified of the cage opening. They could easily imagine the bloodied tools and manacles holding limp tortured wolves to moldering walls, and understood that to this one, the opening of the cage meant only pain.

Sadly, Vilkas drew his sword back, and with a precise thrust, skewered the beast through its heart. As it collapsed to the floor, Laurelin and Vilkas leaned on each other for a moment. It was too real and close. That could be either one of them in the cage. Just as true, it could be either of them lost to their humanity, unable to link themselves back the part of their being that wasn't the beast. Shoulder to shoulder, they silently prayed for the fallen wolf who had been a man, for their fallen shield-brothers, and even more, for those still alive.

After that, they pushed on even more urgently. Finally they came upon one last door. They could smell the fragments close by, along with at least three Silver Hand beyond. Laurelin tugged a strap of her gauntlet a bit tighter, then offered her hand to Vilkas.

"Shall we end this, brother?" Her eyes were dark in the shadows, reflecting the tiny bits of light back in a lambent green and gold glow.

"Aye." His hand grasped hers, and before she knew it, she was pulled close to his chest. Their armored bodies met with a clash she was sure had alerted their enemies; his lips crashed down on hers like a storm, hard at first, then in a breath softened to the merest whisper of touch. Staggered and suddenly lightheaded, Laure let her lips pull slowly away from his a moment later, wondering where the sudden music was coming from. Their eyes slowly opened and met, wonder making both pairs shine with a strange light.

"What was that all about?" she asked, the fingers of her free hand pressed to her tingling lips.

He seemed as astonished by his actions as she. Finally he said softly, "I decided I wasn't going to maybe face my death in there and never have tasted your lips. My apologies if I was too forward. I meant no disrespect." Suddenly he was all correct and proper again. He looked down at their clasped hands, still pressed between them and moved to step back, but his back hit the wall of the corridor they stood in.

"Don't apologize, I think I liked it." She drew in a long shuddering breath. "But for now, shall we?" She nodded to the closed door, reminding both of them that they were at a dangerous junction and needed to be focused, not exploring romantic notions.

The end was nearly anticlimactic after all was said and done. Three weak, frightened, and trapped mortal men stood up, drawing their weapons frantically as dual shadows descended without mercy. Laurelin eschewed her normal preference for the bow; instead she swept in with her lethal sword and dagger, finding every chink in the armor of the Silver Hand she faced. She dodged to and fro as the third tried to flank her. Vilkas was blocking the flailing blows of the biggest man, taunting over his blade.

Laure blocked a jab to her side and lashed out with her dagger, only to feel it twisted out of her hands as the man fell to his knees past her. Laure leaped forward, just dodging another attack from behind, hearing the screech of blade on armor. Whirling, she feinted high toward her attacker's face and kicked his groin while his attention was busy blocking the apparent cut to his eyes. Looking behind, she saw Vilkas and his opponent still hacking away at each other, although Vilkas seemed to be biding his time.

Laure used the time she had bought herself with her kick to spin behind the man she fought, who was gasping on one knee, reached deep with in herself and summoned her Thu'um. **"Yol!"** she shouted, and she was satisfied to see the man drop to the floor dead in a charred heap. Turning, she saw Vilkas block one last overhead blow and pivot, using his hips and then his powerful shoulders to swing his greatsword around in a tight arc, saw it crunch in under the man's raised arms and crush his armor into his chest. The last Silver Hand keeled over with a whimper, choking on his own blood.

Laure ran the first man she'd dropped through with her sword before reclaiming her dagger from his neck. Just in case. Her pale eyes leaped to Vilkas'. Her wolf spirit was prowling near the surface, wanting to bound over to Vilkas, kiss him until the hunger subsided, to confirm they were alive and victorious. Laure shook her head. The gut-twisting smell of her roasted foe drifted to her nose, and though it had never been something she enjoyed, the wolf told her that eating their hearts would be appropriate. _Eeew. Eating Silver Hand. You're repulsive, Laurelin, hey! You're not thinking about kissing Vilkas anymore! Mmm, kissing Vilkas..._

Laurelin was amused by her inner musings. At least she wasn't jumping all over her shield-brother. She busied herself with cleaning her sword and dagger, then began sifting through the dead men's pockets, taking anything of value. Vilkas found the shards of Wuuthrad laid out neatly on a table. He swept them into a leather bag after ascertaining they were all there. His eyes settled on a chest nearby, so he moved over and tried it, only to find it locked.

"I don't suppose you know how to pick locks, do you, Laurelin?" he called out to her.

She straightened up slowly, dropping a few gold pieces into her pouch. "I could give it a try, I guess. I have picks just in case I ever need them." She dropped down next to Vilkas and set to work.

Vilkas watched her as she expertly finessed the lock, saw the complete lack of surprise on her face when it popped open. "You've locked yourself out of your house often, I take it." His gray eyes glinted under his heavy, raised brow.

"Aye, I'm always losing my keys." She deflected further questions by leaning into him, and brushing his cheek with a soft kiss. "Forgetful old woman that I am. Now, shall we see what's in this chest?" She lifted the lid and peeked in. Her eyes widened in disbelief.

Vilkas glanced in and his jaw dropped in awe. "By Ysgramor, that's huge!" A large, multifaceted, milk-white gem caught the few hints of light in the room and bounced them back brightly. Vilkas and Laurelin could feel a subtle warmth and power radiating from it as they stared, gaping. Laure couldn't help herself; her palms were suddenly very itchy. It was almost as big as either of the two Eyes of the Falmer she and Bryn had brought home years ago. This would make a very pretty addition to her little collection of ridiculously large gems._ If Vilkas will allow me to buy out his share in it of course_.

Her pale fingers suddenly looked dingy when they slipped around the gem and lifted it out of the chest. Before she could admire it much however, the air around them grew fresher, and hummed with power.

"Put it back!" Vilkas frantically whispered as a strident, imperious female voice filled the room. Laure was frozen. She recognized the aura that surrounded her as daedric, and she had put her hand right into that tidy little trap.

_"A new hand touches the Beacon. Listen. Hear me and obey. A foul darkness has seeped into my temple. A darkness that you will destroy."_

In the past, she had found a number of daedric artifacts, a few of which she had walked away from without ever touching. Those items had exuded such an overwhelming evil, she had no compunctions telling the items' creators to go fuck themselves. Respectfully, of course. It was never wise to _try_ to piss off any of the daedric princes.

This, this Beacon, didn't make her skin crawl with gooseflesh the same way the others did, however. This one actually somehow felt almost soft and comfortably warm. It was a simple thing to take it back to this shrine the prince spoke of. After all, she wasn't being told she needed to sacrifice Vilkas or Farkas to Boethiah...and she figured now that Vilkas had heard the powerful voice demand its return, so there was no way of keeping it.

She agreed to take the Beacon, and the presence receded, taking the freshness and the humming of otherworldly power and leaving the smokey smell of crisped Silver Hand to assault their noses.

"Always with the daedra? What else?" Vilkas rose and helped Laurelin stand after she tucked the head-sized gem away in her pack.

"Have the princes truly been so interested in you?" he asked with a grim smile.

"Sometimes it seems that way. On my way back from the Glenmoril Witches' cave, I came across a talking dog." She turned away, heading out. "It was a daedra's talking dog, and the wretched thing wanted me to get involved in its feud with his master. I told him to go home like a good dog. He followed me a while-I think he wanted a witch head to chew on-but he finally wandered off. And now this." she patted the huge lump in her pack.

Vilkas was shaking his head from side to side, a wide smile on his disbelieving face. "Coming from any one else, I would tell the person uttering such nonsense they had eaten the wrong mushrooms, but somehow, it just seems part of-" He searched for the right word a moment then settled weakly on, "you?"

"Truly brother, I often wonder if my life could be any more surreal. So, race you to the front door?" She didn't wait, instead she lit out ahead, and this time she cheated when she had room, making the corridors echo with her shouts of **"Wuld!"** Vilkas tore after her, cursing the cheating Dragonborn under his breath as he pursued her. No way on Nirn he was going to _let_ her win.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen-Race the Moons**

**A Warning and a spoiler-Smut follows. Don't like it? Don't read it.**

Night was falling and Vilkas was uneasy about something. It was their first night out of Driftshade Refuge, and they were comfortably tucked into the previous evening's campsite in front of a hot fire. It had taken far less time than either of them thought to battle their way through the last of the Silver Hand-there had been fewer of them than anticipated. The sun had just set when they boiled out of the lair, laughing and shouting.

Laurelin knew Vilkas had something on his mind; he paced around the fire, his booted feet digging deep gouges in the packed snow. His scent further betrayed some anxiety, which piqued her own, although she did her best to suppress it. Ever since he had kissed her, his presence chimed in her mind like a soft song. She found herself watching him while he cooked or cleaned his armor, rather than reading one of the books she had lifted from inside.

His mood seemed better since they had reclaimed the fragments of Wuuthrad and wiped out the last known pocket of Silver Hand. Yet other things she knew little about plainly still bothered him, and she longed to draw it out, to banish whatever doubts lingered in that part of him he refused to share with anyone.

Finally, Laure shut the book and tucked it away. Looking up into Vilkas' eyes, she could see how they were reflecting the fire light, just the way a wolf's would. She sniffed the air carefully, but no hint of danger alerted her to anything nearby that might cause his unease. Her gaze rose up, and finally noticed the huge, nearly full Masser gliding high into the sky. Sudden music twanged her spirit, not unlike the chimes she had heard when Vilkas kissed her, and finally she understood.

"I'm going to change aren't I?" He nodded soundlessly while gazing thoughtfully into her eyes. Laurelin found the thought both delicious and forbidding. "Will you watch over me, brother? Please?" Again came a slow, wordless nod of his coal-black-haired head. "Thank you, Vilkas." She stared blindly into the fire, wrapped up in her own thoughts. Soon, they banked the fire and tried to get some rest, lying back to back again under a mound of furs. Laure yawned and twined her feet between Vilkas' seeking out the warmth he radiated.

He growled softly, "Your feet are like ice, woman!"

"Consider yourself lucky; I could reach higher where there are sure to be _warmer_ places I could put my toes." She smiled into her shoulder, and pressed her back closer to his, absorbing every bit of heat she could. He muttered something under his breath she couldn't quite make out and flipped over, wrapping his long, lean body around hers.

* * *

"Go to sleep. I'll stay until the furs are warm, then I'll keep watch." he was propped on one elbow, could see her slowly blinking eyes. After a while they stayed shut, her breathing evened out, and her body relaxed against his. His bright, serious eyes skimmed over the curve of her neck, such a lovely stretch of skin to be tasted. He refrained, but let his fingers brush a lock of hair from her shoulder, only to have hers glide over his wrist and wrap his arm around her waist.

He found himself holding his breath while she snuggled in closer. It startled him when she asked in a muzzy voice, "How long has it been since your last change?"

"I thought you were asleep." He nuzzled her hair, inhaling her enticing smells.

"I was trying, but it's hard to sleep when someone is watching me."

"I find myself unable to resist; you are a striking woman, Laurelin." He said this lightly, but no hint of lie came to the mer's sensitive nose.

"Nice try, but don't change the subject."

"My last change was several months before you dragged your ratty ass through our doors."

"Do you regret denying yourself all this time?" She ignored his slight taunt, knowing he didn't mean any hurt, instead she pulled his arm tighter.

"Not in the slightest. I wouldn't want to repeat such a trial, but by doing so it helped the man who raised me as a son. It was worth it." He fell silent after that, and so did she. Eventually, she drifted off into a relaxed, light sleep. Vilkas stayed awake, yet never left the furs, his piercing gaze roaming from the woman nestled in his arms to the surrounding wilderness, alert for any sign of danger.

* * *

The sun rose later and found the two Companions already on the trail. Even washed out by daylight, Laure felt the song of the moon coursing through her veins; her wolf crooned and paced, ready to be unleashed.

Vilkas had grumbled slightly about her getting "frisky" with him while she was asleep, but didn't seem put out by it. Most of the day went by in relative silence, both intent on putting as many miles behind them as they could. During a particularly strong outburst from her wolf spirit, she swung around to face Vilkas, having heard a choked sound from behind. He was clench-jawed, sweating, even though they were still high in the mountains. The pale Bosmer understood he was being assaulted by her restless energy. However, for Laurelin, realizing he was dealing with her emotional over-spill, and doing something about it were two separate things entirely. She did make an effort after that, though, to keep her baggage to herself.

They made camp early in some ruins they were lucky enough to stumble upon. A quick sweep around told them no one had been here in a long time. They set up camp, building a small fire in the lee of two broken walls that protected them from the chill wind that rose up near sunset.

Laure and Vilkas changed out of their armor, stowed it away, and huddled in their smalls under furs while the world slowly got darker and darker. They sat facing each other, looking into each other's faces over the dancing flames, trying to fathom what the other was thinking.

Laure finally closed her eyes and began a deep breathing exercise to calm and center herself. The music in her blood pulsed, keeping time with her—no, _their_ heartbeats, she could clearly hear his now, hammering away within his heaving chest. Laurelin shivered as the music set her senses alight, making the sharp woodsmoke tickle her nostrils, made her want to sneeze; the cold stones of the ruin pressed hard into her bare feet. The warmth of the fire kissed her face, warming her long nose, making her knees burn.

Soon she no longer shivered in her naked state. The fire was burning within her now, racing implacably through every speck of her being. The pain built within her bones and muscles as she could sense, hear the full moon climbing over the horizon, huge and singing.

Laurelin's pale eyes flew open, and unerringly found Vilkas, similarly enthralled by the moonsong. He gritted out through clenched white teeth, "Don't fight it, for the love of Ysmr! Makes it...hurt more!"

Laure could scarce contain herself any longer, regardless. The call was so strong, undeniably seductive, with the blood and the moon singing to her. She gave in with a stifled moan, slumping to the ground heavily. Vilkas wanted to reach out and comfort her, but his own need had a relentless grip on his body and mind, and he was keeping it ruthlessly in check.

Hunger quickened his heavy, slow breathing as he watched Laurelin in the full throes of her change. It was happening quickly, although she spasmed and thrashed, mewling loudly as the transformation tortuously altered her body. Her lovely, already somewhat wolfish face lengthened, and sprouted a mask of silver and gold fur, jaws studded with diamond bright teeth. She reared up, white and blue eyes flashing lucidly to to Vilkas, who quaked on the verge of his own long denied change.

Mesmerized, he watched and trembled with longing as she shook her long, maned head. She looked hungrily up at Masser as she scented the wind. Lowering her magnificent head, she looked directly into Vilkas' eyes and mind. She waited until she had his full attention, then winked, and wheeled away, into the night, with an enticing swish of her long, plumy tail.

Vilkas uttered a remarkably coherent, "Ungh!" and gave in himself. His wolf form settled over him like a comfortable old cloak. When he rose up, his wolf spirit snarled happily at finally being freed. He raced off after his moon-sister, cold snow churning under his powerful, clawed hands and feet._ This time she can't use her Thu'um_ whispered the man part of his mind. Who cares? Tonight we hunt! growled the wolf.

The two wolves ran together for a while, just because they could. Powerful limbs let them leap and run without pause, endurance was an integral part of their being. Spiraling out from their camp, they ranged over rivers, through valleys, and into a small forest, but they found no significant game. They relentlessly loped on, moon and blood driving them further.

They soon picked up the scent of a troll, sour and rotting. Snouts eagerly sniffing, they tracked the creature to a narrow cleft in a nearby hillside. The troll had heard them approaching, and beat it's long hairy fists on the ground, trying to intimidate them away.

Not at all intimidated, Laure and Vilkas separated, flanking the shaggy, white monster, which swiveled to follow Vilkas, who was easier to see against the snow. While its attention was on Vilkas, Laurelin snuck in, slashing with her teeth at the back of its legs. The troll spun on her, claws raking out at her in a flash. As she ducked back out of the way, Vilkas leaped in, snapping at the same spot. Thus they soon had the enraged beast panting heavily, hunched down as it tried to keep three eyes on the two ruthless antagonists.

Laurelin sensed Vilkas' growing boredom—or was he feeling her own boredom?-and finally, when the troll's eyes moved to Vilkas, launched herself at its throat, claws flashing in the moonlight. The troll flailed wildly, managing to get in a glancing blow on Laure's flank, but she was still able to slide under its guard and clamp her powerful jaws onto its neck. Blood gouted in steaming pulses while her claws raked its tough, shaggy hide.

Vilkas prowled around behind, and launched himself forward, toward the floundering troll's backside. Laure broke away when she sensed her moon-brother closing in for the kill. Her admiring gaze took in the way each clawed hand flashed once, and then the troll's head was bouncing across the snow in uneven wobbles.

Howling victoriously, their dark shadows blended together as they moved off in search of new prey. The lone vampire they encountered fled before they could get near enough. After chasing the stinking thing several miles, it was clear they wouldn't catch it before dawn, so they gave off in search of more edible prey. By now, the hunger in their bellies was excruciating, so when they came upon a young, fat-heavy bear, they dispatched it quickly and feasted while the moon finally set.

Vilkas looked to the horizon, noted the slight graying of the dark sky in the east. He bumped Laurelin with his snout and nodded east. She paused from licking her paws and face clean, and took a moment to absorb his mental image of a cozy den, warm and dark. With her belly now full, den sounded good.

They tracked their way back easily, arriving in their camp before dawn had brightened the sky much more. They had playfully nipped and pounced each other on the way back, scuffling briefly in the snow before one would scramble away, tail flicking in the other's nose. Vilkas shoved Laurelin to the ground with a toothy smile, tongue lolling out, and dropped to the ground next to her. She growled and cuffed him lightly with her heavy paw, but he grabbed it before she could pull it back and drew her near.

Their breath steamed up in one cloud between their furred faces. Vilkas growled softly, leaned over and slowly licked her muzzle clean, tasting blood, salty and delicious. Laurelin nearly purred, so soft and low was her growl of pleasure. Growling more fiercely, Vilkas suddenly rolled, pinning Laure under his powerful, dark furred body. His nose had already memorized her scent, spent hours letting it lilt by him as he read on the porch at Jorrvaskr. It had been a distraction at first, now it was driving him into a frenzy he was scarce able to check. He buried his head in the long fur at her nape, inhaling her fragrance. His teeth nipped up her nape, to her ear, leaving her yipping softly, eyes rolling shut.

Vilkas finally wrenched his control back from the wolf before its urge to mate carried them places he wasn't entirely sure they were both ready for. Without Laurelin's—not her wolf spirit riding rampant in her body and mind—express permission, he would not let his wolf spirit claim her that way. With a quiet low growl, he rose to his hind feet, pulling her up with him. He caught her gaze, and she stared back, neither submitting nor challenging. _She wouldn't, not until I made a move_. He finally bumped his forehead to hers, and held up one claw. He turned away to trot over to the pile of furs, scooped them up in his powerful arms, and carried them closer to the fire. Laure followed, and burrowed into the pile. Vilkas hesitated only a moment before sliding in. He automatically folded himself around her, feeling her already shifting back. She shuddered and whined, pushed back into his strong chest for comfort, which he willingly gave, as much as he was able. He crooned softly in her long ear, nuzzled her cheek and neck. Before long the shaking stopped and she slumped forward, rolling onto her belly with a sigh.

Vilkas let his transformation flow back over him at that moment, and it was smooth and soundless, though the wolf already grumbled to be set free again. Propped up on one elbow, he reached out and traced a hot finger up her spine, causing her to shiver head to toe. The furs slipped down and her pale skin shone in the dim light, revealing the scabbed reminders of her brush with the troll, along with an arresting number of scars shining silver. One high up on her left side, under her shoulder blade he couldn't quite read. Wide, like a stab wound from a sword, but for it to be that wide, it must have been run all the way through her. Who had stabbed her and why? How had she survived?

"Who wanted you dead so badly?"He asked as his thumb brushed the thick seam of scar tissue.

"A former employer. There's a matching one on the front, except it's prettier." She rolled over and pushed the furs down to her hips. Vilkas tried not to stare at her shapely body, the soft curve of her breast just above an even wider scar, just below her ribs. "At least he stabbed me while I was facing him." Anger flared brightly in her scent as she remembered the pain and humiliation of being unable to defend herself as the bastard hastily ran her through, aiming for her heart but missing, his sword catching on one of the many buckles on her armor.

Vilkas responded to her anger with a surge of his own protective rage. "Would that I had been there to guard you sister. I would have ripped his heart out before I allowed such a thing." His jaw was clenched tight, teeth bared.

Her long, delicate fingers stole up to stroke his cheek, softening the tightness away. It continued up to the back of his head, curling her fingers through his dark, wavy hair, pulled a twist down over his forehead. He looked down at her, fury still in his eyes, but fading to something softer.

She smiled up at him and said, "Come here..." His lips were descending toward hers, but he stopped just shy of them meeting, brushed her long nose with his sharp one, slowly pressing himself in closer to her, while she mewled softly. He feathered his lips up over the wide bridge of her nose, kissing the high arch of her brow with the faintest of touches. A ripple that started in her neck and passed all the way to her knees shook her body as she was suddenly clinging to him in shocked delight.

It was beyond tickling or teasing, it was a near orgasmic heat, making her skin crawl with desire. Vilkas leaned back a bit to take in her reaction. She gave a little growl and pulled him down, staring into his silver eyes, and playfully nipped at his lips, until they claimed hers finally. The sound of low, mellow toned wind chimes and of leaves sighing on a breeze filled her ears with subtle music again, while his lips explored hers. His warm mouth parted slightly, tongue flicking out to trace the curve of her lips.

Laure opened her mouth to his, let her tongue glide over his between their hovering lips. With a groan, Vilkas cupped her face with one rough hand, sealed his lips to hers, passionately drinking in her taste.

The mellow chimes Laurelin had been hearing sounded more like the singing drums of her homeland, musical, throbbing, pounding in her blood. She pressed herself tightly against him, one leg curving up to loop over his thighs.

Vilkas finally tore his lips from hers and gasped out, "I'll kill him! Hunt him down and rip his skin from his body!" His eyes were dilated, wide open in fury and hunger.

Laure chuckled quietly. "Still stewing on that, huh? He's long dead; I killed him myself, dear one. No need to get all protective."

"I can't help it. The...blood. My wolf spirit-" he stopped, an intent questioning look on his face.

"You can tell me if you're comfortable," she smirked up at him, "or keep being awkward and snarly. I think it's darling." Her fingertips traced over the hard muscles joining his neck to his shoulders, and down over his collarbone, making him shiver.

His brow furrowed nonetheless. "Gods above! I'm trying to find a lucid way to tell you my wolf spirit wants to claim you as mate, you damned infuriating woman! It's howling in my head to take you, make you mine. I'm telling you this so you know, damn it! The wolf-no _I_-want to get to know you-all of you. I want to be a part of your life..." he stopped again, as if shocked at what he had said.

Laurelin felt her heart flip in her chest and leap to her throat, where it promptly swelled up and choked off her breath for a moment. "Darling, you _are_ a part of my life. Don't go all peculiar on me...I could never ask for a better shield-brother-"

Vilkas snarled and rolled over her, pushing her into the furs. "I want to be more than just a shield-brother...with lusty perks thrown in on the side! If we start this, between us, I know I won't be your master, even think to own the right to dictate your life, but I won't want to let go." His silver eyes caught the early morning sunlight and flashed brightly.

As the light crept over them, Laurelin considered what he said a bare moment, while she took in a deep breath, then asked, "Kiss me?" His nostrils flared and he shook his head with a small smile, but lowered his head, brushing her lips with his, gently nibbled her lower lip and sucked gently, feeling her tremble under him and arch up. His inner wolf hummed in pleasure when her hand slid up the back of his neck and pulled him closer, fingers curling through his tousled hair. He felt her lips curl up into a smile under his and she asked between tiny kisses that made his head spin, "Do you hear that?"

"What, the music? Thought that was just me!" he gasped in confusion.

"Gods! I'm glad I'm not imagining that." she giggled softly, and offered her mouth to his, still smiling.

"Wrong mushrooms, lovely?" he asked as he nuzzled from her lips to her sensitive ears.

"Couldn't be!" she gasped out, letting her fingers play over his hard chest muscles "Not if you're hearing it too." She cried out when he seized her wrists and forced them over her head, holding them with one hand, while his blunt fingers trailed down the inside if her arm, over her side, leaving a trail of gooseflesh standing up on her skin. His hand curved across her ribcage, slid up to curl softly around the base of her breast, causing her to bite her lip and arch herself up closer to him. His lips left tiny, wet, moan inducing kisses across her throat, and down across the swell of her breast. His teeth grazed the tight nub of her pale-pink nipple, and he let his tongue swirl deliciously around.

Encouraged by her reactions, Vilkas let a out a little groan and took her whole breast in his large hand, suckled hard, savoring the sudden needles digging into his shoulders as her nails clamped into his skin. He smiled to himself and moved his lips back up, pressing his hips against hers, feeling the amazing heat of their two bodies rubbing together.

She was remarkably responsive, and her soft cries, the way she had hooked a leg up over his hip to press herself closer, it was all making his head spin, and the wolf was waiting. With a stifled moan, he pressed the full length of his lean body to hers, rocking his hips against hers, almost lost in the feeling of her smooth thighs clenched around his hips. Her own were rolling too, sliding her wet mound against his hard length, making him quake, fighting back the beast that roared, "_Claim her!_"

His lips and tongue were searing across her skin, teeth making her buck under him with hunger. Wrenching his lips from hers, he stared into her wide, glazed eyes, seeking an answer. She answered by biting her lip, and letting her hands glide lower, nails scratching down his chest, sides, until he felt warm fingers glide up and wrap around him, stroking lovingly that part of him that hadn't known a woman's touch in years. Those same hands guided him between her thighs, where he convulsively pressed forward, skimming his shaft through her swollen, wet folds. She held him there a moment, rubbing herself against him, making him curse softly at the impishness in her eyes at the moment.

"Please," he groaned hoarsely, "stop tormenting me, woman. It's been ages and I'm like to explode in your hand if you keep this up." His lips covered hers again, tongue fiercely jabbing into her mouth.

"There are much better places to explode..." she moaned out, still rocking her hips against him. "All you have to do is claim me...don't be such a milk drinker..." She lifted her chin and bared her throat for him, lowering her eyes from his. Vilkas needed no further encouragement, his mouth closed on the nape of her neck and bit hard, making her gasp and cry out, as he pulled his hips back and slid smoothly and slowly into her, his wolf spirit leaping to the fore to claim _Mine_! He tasted her salty blood on his lips as he licked the scarlet drops from his teeth marks, felt her pulling him in deeper, wondered if he was losing his mind, she felt so sweet.

"You are mine!" he whispered in her ear, pushing his hips forward until they met hers. He paused a moment, reveling internally at the undeniable, heady sensation of being immersed in this incredible mer woman.

"Yours!" she agreed and bit his own shoulder as she clung to him, fingers locked into his hips, grinding needfully against him. She tightened her thighs around him as he slowly pulled almost his entire length out, and just as slowly pushed in again, making her squirm under him and whimper. He fit just right between her hips and inside her. Their heartbeats were hammering together, joining the drumbeats of the music Laure was still hearing.

Although Vilkas truly wanted to take his time and savor every moment with Laurelin, the way she was writhing under him was nearly his undoing. He could feel her tightening around him in little pulses that caused his thrusts to speed up against his will. With a snarl he buried his head in her neck, kissing and biting, driving her into a frenzy beneath his heaving body. Laurelin, nipping and kissing his neck, licked the sweat off the base of his throat and laughed in delight.

"What...on Nirn...so funny?" gasped Vilkas, trying to slow his urgent pace but unable to stop himself from driving forcefully into her.

"You taste...ahh, like...sin! Delicious and naughty...oh!" Laurelin was staring raptly into Vilkas' face, enthralled by his intent expression, the way the sunlight was haloing his head like a crown, highlighting the strong curves of his back and shoulder muscles. Her head rolled in the furs, the sight was a beautiful one that nearly tore her breath away.

She playfully threw her legs over his shoulders, used her knees to pull him closer. He leaned in, bit her lower lip, while he lifted her hips with one hand, used the other to tuck one of the furs under her hips, then scooted forward, still pressing her knees to her chest. He released her lip to trail his tongue up her calf, kissing her ankle, and let his hips pound against her body, driving tiny squeaks out of panting woman below him.

Her face was flushed, mouth swollen from the fierceness of his kisses, her limbs were moving with a slow, heaviness, mirroring what was occurring inside her. Her vision was tunneling, and when she closed her eyes, stars seemed to streak across the golden haze in her mind. Singing drums chanted in deep ringing tones, rooted in her heart.

Vilkas wasn't sure if the ground was actually shaking under them, but it felt that way when he finally surrendered the rest of his control and let the moment carry him away. His hips slapped heavily against the backs of her thighs, feeling the walls of her hot sex squeezing tightly around him. Looking down into her face, he saw wonder, and a sensual smile curving over her trembling lips. It slammed into his gut like a fist then, he was claiming his _mate_, and she couldn't look happier about it. The thoughts were so heady, when he realized this, every muscle in his body went rigid for an instant, and he felt himself soaring free for a moment, while he climaxed with a wondering shout deep into Laurelin.

Laure felt him tensing, and wrapped her legs around him, pulling him as deep into her as she could, her mind whirling as she felt herself constrict then expand in pleasure, her mind spinning dizzily, born up by the feeling of him shuddering and crying out her name in relief and triumph. The music was still ebbing slowly around them, softer now, easing away to a quiet hum in the back of her head.

As if on cue, a flock birds nearby took wing, fluttering about chattering and singing to each other, busy and content. The everyday sounds of the world finally filled their ears again as the lovers relaxed. Vilkas lowered his head to her neck after shifting the leg over his shoulder down around his hips. Rosy, early morning light washed over their limp forms, shivering slightly as sweat cooled in the chill air.

Laure used a foot to hook a fur over Vilkas, contently stroking his forehead, running her fingertips through the long stubble on his cheeks. "Astonishing!" she breathed quietly, happy to take a deep breath and watch the sky turn blue.

Vilkas hesitated a moment then asked "Regrets?"

Without hesitation, she replied, "None. And you, you incredibly sexy man, have you any regrets of your own?"

"Only that I didn't try harder to make our first time last longer," he said honestly. His big hands were gently cupping her breast, thumb playing over her softened nipple.

"Vilkas, it was perfect. I saw stars, love. Stars in a golden sky that wasn't there. I opened my eyes, looked up and saw my lover crowned in fire and cloaked in light while he made me feel such amazing things-I couldn't dream for more than that." She kissed the top of his head, sniffing appreciatively at his smokey, bloody, mouthwatering smell.

"Did you mean what you said about wanting to be a part of my life?" she finally asked.

"Every word. I suppose I do somewhat regret telling you this in the heat of the blood and lust. I had planned on waiting until I was sure you felt the same. When we were both in our right minds, not letting the wolf speak and act for us."

Laurelin smiled wryly. "The moon caught up to us and did away with all your plans, aye? My inner wolf is very content with this turn. So am _I_, Vilkas, rest easy. Something clicked when I started hearing things when you kissed me." Her little smile felt like it would last forever as she told him that. There had been music; they had both heard it. _What does that mean, exactly_? Unable to work it out in her tired mind, she mentally shrugged it away. Maybe someday the meaning would become clear. He certainly didn't have anything to say on it.

Vilkas finally roused himself, pulling away from Laurelin regretfully. Slipping out of the furs, he moistened a scrap of linen and came back, to gently wash between her thighs. After he cleansed himself, he rolled back into the furs, took his new mate in his arms to cuddle her close to him. They nuzzled each other affectionately, murmuring softly to each other as they drifted off to sleep, feeling secure and content in each others embrace.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen- A New Day Dawning**

**Another smut warning. This one is fairly tame however. More like a cheap paperback novel than real smut. You've been warned.**

Laurelin and Vilkas slept through the morning, and on into late afternoon. Vilkas finally rose, needing to relieve himself and get a drink of water. Carefully tucking the furs back around his Bosmer lover's shoulders, he drank in the sight of her sleeping peacefully. Such moments were rare in these times.

He did not regret claiming her as he had, but he foresaw some complications when it came to his brother. Farkas had all but claimed her already; he didn't think she was aware of that. Vilkas understood that to be with a Bosmer, he couldn't claim her the way he might a Nord, or any human woman, for that matter. It was a part of the nature of the wood elves to be free and unfettered. While they took mates, monogamy was never required of a couple. If they chose to take other lovers, or even multiple mates, it was accepted without question, as long as everyone in the relationship agreed to it. Vilkas was trying to rapidly reconcile himself to the fact that his chosen mate would probably be reluctant to give up any interests outside of just the two of them. His brother, he could handle, he supposed. They had learned to share everything as boys, and it wouldn't even be the first time they had shared a woman.

His thoughts carried him many places while he took in every detail of her sleeping form. Eventually, Vilkas turned, remembering why he had climbed from the warmth of the furs in the first place. Making his way out of the ruins, he strode bare and shivering lightly from their campsite to relieve his bladder. Maybe after that he would slide into the furs, and slowly kiss and caress her to wakefulness. Aye, that sounded like a fine plan.

* * *

Laurelin was dreaming the most delicious dreams, in which warm arms folded around her and a lean body pressed hungrily to hers. A soft voice whispered in her ear, warm breath tickled her nape. Strong gentle fingers traced the curve of her hip and ribcage, teasingly sliding around to cup her breast. When she felt a bump against her backside, her hips pressed back, let a leg lift a tiny bit so a hot length of something hard could glide between her legs and nestle there. Slowly, Laure realized it wasn't all just a dream, the heat between her legs was real, as was the iron hard length nudging between her thighs.

She rubbed herself appreciatively on Vilkas, while pressing closer to his chest with her back. The overpowering smell of his desire filled her nostrils as she slowly pulled herself from sleep to the bright afternoon and what he was doing to her body.

Where earlier had the urgency of the beast blood pounding fiercely through their minds and bodies, this time Vilkas and Laurelin set out slowly. Vilkas teased her, learning her most sensitive and responsive parts, what made her smile while she bit her lower lip in the most fascinating manner. Where his fingers went, his full lips soon followed, kissing and nibbling across her whole shuddering body. Soon, soft sing-song humming filled their minds.

Laurelin was not idle during his worship of her body. They slipped and flowed about each other, lips tracing moist, fiery trails wherever they landed. Hearts pounding together, they spent long moments frozen in each others arms, raptly absorbing in the light each others eyes, the warmth of their intertwined bodies, the sweet, salty taste of lips and tongues.

When she straddled him and he finally slid into her again, they both ceased any motions for a long moment and buried their faces in warm, sweaty hair, breathing in the scent of their desire. Vilkas finally looked up at the mer on his lap, eyes hooded in ecstasy, saw the setting sun crown his lady in fire, and felt a laugh bubble up in his chest. Suddenly he understood her earlier wonder and joy. A little grin played across her features as she looked down at him, her arms draped around his muscular shoulders. She rolled her hips and lifted sightly.

Vilkas caught her hips, and began slowly thrusting into her, all the time unable to tear his eyes away from her face. He let the sweetness of the moment carry them, indulging in every moment like it was the last, or the first, like it would never end. A flight of dragons could have landed on top of them at that instant, and neither one would have noticed. For the moment, it was just the two lovers, reaffirming what had been realized in blood, confirming it with every tender caress, every glance and cry.

The release, the almost furious passion of earlier seemed a childish fumbling of two virgins in comparison to the monumental wave of pleasure that crashed over both Laurelin and Vilkas when they came together finally. The slow tide had built up so stealthily, they didn't even realize it was upon them before they clenched and shuddered together, calling out with abandon, heedless that anyone might hear. Laurelin eased her self back, and they continued rocking together on the receding flow of their need until nearly asleep again.

Sweat dried, the wind picked up, and soon the two werewolves realized the moon was singing again, a chillier, more distant song than the red, hungry chant of the night before, still calling nonetheless. Laurelin rolled out from under Vilkas and went to relieve herself, using a handful of clean snow to scrub herself clean afterward. Strolling naked and barefoot back into camp, she caught Vilkas tugging his pants on, and she pouted.

"I guess we should start heading back to Whiterun, aye?" she asked before lifting a water skin to her lips.

He nodded. "It would be wise, and we need to get back to take care of so many things. Kodlak-"

He choked a little. For a short time, he had been able to set aside the grief and guilt he felt. Now it all came flooding back. He realized he hadn't gone to Driftshade not so much to appease Kodlak as much as himself. A terrifying part of him still wanted to go back and kill them all again. _And again_. No, Kodlak would not have wanted that from him. He would have wanted to see him happy, cleansed of the taint._ I think he would have been happy knowing what I've found with Laurelin_, he realized. Well perhaps the old man already knew. He had certainly been asking some shrewd questions early the morning of the day he was killed. Vilkas realized he had trailed off, leaving his answer unfinished. "For Kodlak's funeral, to get the shards back where they belong." He sighed and finished lacing his pants up. "And Farkas will need to...to know some things."

* * *

_Farkas!_ How had she let him slip so far from her thoughts? She really had been wrapped up in Vilkas these last few days. _Vilkas, witches, daedra, werewolves, blood...vengeance. So many things_. She thoughtfully began to dress. "So, I can just run tonight I think; I feel as though I can manage the blood this evening."

"No need, we can run as wolves as easily, cover more ground. You may have to carry your pack in your teeth though. Mine has adjustable straps." he smirked at the mental image of her majestic, gleaming beast shape, silhouetted by the moons, a battered pack swinging from her powerful jaws, bed roll clamped in sharp claws. She nodded, seeming to only partially hear him. "Don't worry, we'll get you back to Farkas soon enough!" He teased gently, having a good idea where her thoughts were directed, even though he was sure she would take it as him being nervous or jealous.

She stopped dressing, eying him carefully over the gray ashes of the fire. She wasn't sure what to say but felt she needed to reply somehow. Finally, reluctantly, not knowing if he would be upset, she quietly said, "Are we running on two or four tonight?"

"Four. If we run hard, we can be halfway back home before dawn. Then we sleep a few hours, get back within the walls by sundown if we push ourselves. You up for it, old lady?" He came over, still shirtless, and wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

"Aye, _weird_ as it is, I'm ready for a bath and a hot meal." She paused a moment before adding, "We only ever made love once, Farkas and I." Somehow she felt she had to say it even though-

"I know, Laurelin." He kissed her forehead and squeezed her close. The moons rose huge and swollen behind the couple, but they ignored the pull a few moments longer, just a few quiet moments. Soon, though, they broke apart, gathered up the gear they had, and stowed it away. Vilkas rolled all their bedding into one big bundle before turning to Laurelin. She was watching him with a playful smirk pulling the corners of her lips up. "What is it?" he asked.

"Just watching my lover, being so very manly. It excites me." She hopped off the broken wall she had perched on, brushing her bare behind off, shivering in the chilly air. "Now, I'm sure I can pull off this whole transformation business without all the flopping around on the ground. I'm shooting for style and grace eventually." She let her wolf spring forward, lowering the barricade she kept it caged behind. As her shape morphed, she keened softly, dropping to one knee briefly before pushing herself up to her full, towering height. Her steaming breath clouded around her head, seeming to smoke from between her fangs. Her head swiveled to Vilkas, who chuckled when her eyebrow pulled up in question.

"Better. No thrashing or whining. We'll need to work on your form though." He walked toward her, let his own shape flow over him and to her eyes, it was smooth as water; one moment he was a man, the next he was beast, towering over even her, smiling. Laure huffed a little and nuzzled his neck, rubbing affectionately under his chin. He growled softly and turned her about, indicating her pack with one clawed hand. She picked it up and slung it over her shoulder, bounding off before Vilkas got his giant shoulders settled in his straps. Once his bag was settled, he arranged the furs in the straps to his satisfaction, before turning round. He gave one last sniff around the campsite, searching for anything forgotten, but found nothing else. With a howl that was quickly answered, he loped off in the direction of his mate.

* * *

They made excellent time getting back to Whiterun. As it turned out, few creatures, thinking or not, wanted to tangle with two werewolves running under the swollen moons. They rested several hours in the morning, then rose and pushed on, fully armed and armored this time. When they staggered up the steps to Jorrvaskr, pleased to be home but exhausted, torchlight and voices pulled them up to the Skyforge.

All of the Companions were gathered, armor clean and shining in the torch light, along with the Jarl, with his escort-including Irileth, a few guards and Farengar- Danica Pure-Spring, and Eorland Gray-Mane. Kodlak was arrayed in his finery atop the tall pyre built over the cold Skyforge. Banners and bunting draped the old man and his bier, adornments that reminded Laurelin of nothing so much as blood and gold. Quiet conversations ceased when the last two Companions finally arrived.

Aela walked up, a grim smile on her face. "Good, you made it, take your places, please." Laurelin slipped up to Farkas and curled her arm around his waist. He looked down, his beautiful, silver eyes glimmering. "Hi. Good to see you," he offered softly, then looked back at his brother and nodded.

"I'll start," their red-haired sister offered, stepping forward, raising a torch in front of her, solemnly calling out, "Before the Ancient Flame…"

"We grieve," responded Farkas, Vilkas and the others solemnly.

"At this loss…" Eorland continued with the next line, face heavy with grief.

"We weep." Laurelin bit her lip, wishing she knew the proper responses to offer it up for Kodlak, but said it quietly after each phrase instead.

"For the fallen," Vilkas called out in his deep, clear voice, behind Laurelin.

"We shout." The combined voices of the Companions rose up proudly.

"And for ourselves," summed up Farkas, his voice low, and strong.

"We take our leave." Aela solemnly set the flames of her torch into the tinder at the base of the pyre, lighting it all around, until curls of smoke drifted up past the stone eagle of the forge. Farkas kissed the top of Laure's head and sniffed her hair as they watched their Harbinger's body disappear behind a wall of smoke and flames.

"You two smell happy," was all he was able to say finally, his voice husky, cracking a tiny bit.

"We can speak later, dear one," she replied, resting her head on his chest.

"Sure." He cleared his throat, stared wordlessly into the fire, his brow knitted, looking sad and forlorn, great shoulders hunching forward. Although the smoke stung their eyes, the three of them stayed long after everyone but Eorland left. Blinking back tears, in the hot firelight they said silent farewells to the man who had been friend to all and father for the twins.

Later, when the highest flames had died down, Eorland approached the trio of warriors standing linked through their arms, asking, "Did you retrieve the fragments of Wuuthrad?" Vilkas reluctantly pulled away from Laurelin to fish the pieces from his pack. The elder smith hefted the small sack, weighing it in his calloused hand. "I have a favor to ask of you," he said to Laure. "Kodlak kept one of the fragments close to him, somewhere in his chambers. I'm not the right person to go rummaging through his belongings. Would you please go find it and bring it to me here?" She nodded and slowly went down into Jorrvaskr.

A short time later she returned, having easily found the fragment in Kodlak's nightstand. It was a strange thing, to poke through the old man's belongings; she had found his journal in the same drawer as the shard, but she left it there, unread.

Eorland thanked her when she turned over the last piece, directing her to the Underforge, where the rest of the Circle waited. She entered in time to hear the other three debating something, Farkas claiming, "Kodlak did not care for vengeance."

"No he didn't, Farkas." Vilkas followed Laurelin with his eyes as she slowly moved by, giving him a weak smile as she leaned on one of the low, rounded stone shelves in the corners of the chamber.

She listened to them bicker in spurts then fall silent. Her head was pounding from the lack of sleep, exertion, and the grief still heavy on her heart. Laure let them talk while she rested quietly.

Vilkas and Aela were musing on the tomb of Ysgramor and the possibility of using the Glenmoril Witch heads Laure collected when the door of the Underforge opened, admitting Eorland. He listened a moment then stepped forward, interrupting Aela, "And dragons were just stories. And the elves once ruled Skyrim." He had a long-handled axe strapped to his broad, sooty back. "Just because something is, doesn't mean it must be. The blade is a weapon. A tool. Tools are meant to be broken. And repaired."

Vilkas and Farkas were both open mouthed in surprise. "Is that...did you repair Wuuthrad?" Vilkas finally asked, eying the huge weapon with a screaming elf wrought into the metal of the blade.

"Aye, it's the first time I've had all the pieces, thanks to Laurelin." He nodded her way, before unslinging the axe from his back, offering it to her.

"Don't thank me. I didn't even touch the fragments; that was Vilkas. I was busy plundering dead Silver Hand." She gazed somewhat distastefully at the huge, glittering weapon in Eorland's hands. "Vilkas should carry it into battle; I think it would be more appropriate for him. Besides, he's better with big, cumbersome blades than I." Eorland offered it to her again, a resolute expression on his face. Laure finally relented, carefully holding the ancient axe away from her body. The smith nodded, took his leave and departed.

Laure glanced around. Aela, Vilkas, and Farkas were still staring in awe at the legendary Wuuthrad. Not knowing what to do with it, she carefully laid it down behind her on the shelf.

Aela straightened up first. "So we should leave for Ysgramor's tomb immediately. How soon can you be ready, and do you still have those witch heads I've been hearing about?"

Laurelin wanted to rage, but she lacked the energy. "The heads are in a barrel at home, aye. But Aela, Vilkas and I have only just returned from a long, tiring journey. I went through my first moon-change...surely Kodlak will understand if we delay a short time to regain our strength. I'm at the end of my endurance. We should prepare..."

Aela nodded. "That might be wise. When can you be ready to leave?"

"Give me two days, sister," Laure replied, running her hands through her dirty, tangled hair. "I'm heading to Breezehome. You are all welcome to join me there for drinks later-after I've had a bath." Warily, she looked to Farkas and Vilkas, who stood shoulder to shoulder nearby. Vilkas let a half smile slip across his face, only for it to settle back into a grief stricken, slightly worried frown.

Farkas lightly punched his brother on the shoulder, saying, "C'mon, I'm getting kinda tired of just standing here. Let's get a drink; sounds like you two had quite an adventure. You can tell me about it while I pour." He pushed Vilkas to the door, throwing a brief smile over his shoulder for the two women still lingering inside.

* * *

Aela stared at the closed door a moment, then noted Laurelin's stricken expression. Two strides, and the sobbing mer was wrapped in her shield-sisters strong arms. The fire-tressed warrior let Laure cry herself out, stroking the pale mer's hair from her face. She finally took her sister's chin and pulled her brimming gaze upward. "Hey, look...I know I ride him, and tease him about his smarts, but I know Farkas isn't stupid. He'll figure himself out; he always does, in time."

Laure took a deep, steadying breath. "I just don't want him to think I don't care-nothing could be further from the truth. I love him so much, I'm afraid he'll think I was playing games with his heart, but I do care! He is so good to me, such an amazing friend..."

"We all know, sister. Each of us in the Circle, the whelps-shit, all of town has seen and gossiped about how you two cozied up." She halted a moment, studying the wretched figure huddled in her arms. "Laurelin, you love everyone, with out reservation and don't try to hide it. It's just that we humans have a harder time accepting certain aspects of that emotion, and how it affects us. The biggest problem I see with all of this is in your head. You chose, for good or ill, to bond with both brothers. And how could you not? They are both quite remarkable after all. But you bonded with twins no less, and did it in the most powerful ways we know: with your mind, with the blood, and with the love you don't seem to realize you radiate. Now you've added in a physical connection. Certain things were bound to happen. Well, now you've trapped the bear, and it's time to skin it."

"What?" Laure asked in confusion.

"You're going to have to make a few hard decisions, sister." Aela replied kindly.

* * *

Laurelin trudged home, Wuuthrad clutched in her arms. Just touching the thing seemed to sting and make her skin crawl uncomfortably. Regardless, she had been given it to carry, so she did. Cried out and dry eyed again, she pushed her way into Breezehome with a sigh, carefully putting the axe on the weapon rack by the front door.

Lydia clattered down the stairs, took one look at her Thane, and was all solicitous care, helping Laure drag out the tub and fill the kettle. When the tub was full, Laure poured in several vials of essential oils, handfuls of mineral salts, and some dried and crushed flowers- it was just that kind of night- before sinking in the steaming bath with a groan

Lydia handed over a goblet of wine, which Laurelin accepted with a half smile. "Do you want to talk about it?" her housecarl ventured.

"Thank you, but no. I've had my cry-it-all-out moment. Now I just need some time to think, sort some things out." Laure rested her head on the back of the tub. Lydia tucked a folded towel under her Thane's neck as a cushion.

"I'll be up in my room then, if you need anything." Lydia bowed and went upstairs, her door clicking quietly shut.

Laurelin could feel the communion happening between the twins. It shimmered in her mind, silver and bright, as she slowly relaxed, soaked away the filth and stiffness built up in her muscles. She wished at that moment for the ability to tune it all out, but she was unable to drive her mind elsewhere. It was all too close. Those two were melded into her thoughts, she to theirs.

Gradually, her mind opened more, showed her how important she was to the brothers. Braided into the argent strands of their thoughts was a third glowing thread. Hers. Palest gold and blue. The image shining in her mind, the warmth it gave her brought a shuddering relief to her cringing spirits. Laure was surprised to discover fresh tears wetting her cheeks, and wiped them away with the back of her damp hands.

Rising from the cool water, she stood naked in front of the always blazing fire until dry, swallowing the last of her wine. She pulled herself upstairs and into her cold, empty bed.

She was tossing and turning fitfully when his smell reached her nostrils. He was still a few dozen paces from her door. Laure leaped from bed, wrapping a pelt around her shoulders as she went. Dancing lightly down the stairs, she pulled the door open, and yanked a smiling Vilkas inside.

His face was scrubbed clean, hair neatly combed back, a faint trace of smoke and grief lingered in his hair as she jumped into his arms. They folded around her, reassuring in their strength. Vilkas and Laure stood, forehead to forehead for a while, both shivering, but not from the cold.

Finally, he steered them inside and closed the door behind him. "He wants to know that you're okay." Vilkas began quietly, his sharp ears picking out the sounds of Lydia snoring softly in her room. "It would be better if you talked to him in person, but he wants to tell you he understands what happened. He wants you, but if you will be happy with me..." he trailed off, looking away uncertainly.

"Vilkas, I feel so blessed to have you and your brother in my life. What did I ever do to deserve the two of you as friends, and more? I never dreamed anything like this would ever happen to me." She stepped into his arms and looked up. "How am I to solve this with a blade or my Thu'um?" She managed to say it lightly, but her heart still ached. Dragons she could face. Her confused heart was a conundrum she felt ill equipped to solve.

"You won't. You'll use your heart, love." He smiled kindly down at her, the normally tight planes of his face open and relaxed. The creases between his brows seemed softer. Even his smell was less threatening. His lips when they met hers tasted of honeyed spices, soft and sultry.

Wanting nothing more than to snuggle into bed with him, she asked, "Can we sleep on all of this please? I'm sure some rest would help."

"Do you want me to stay with you tonight?" he asked as she took him by the hand and led him upstairs.

"Where else would my mate sleep but with me? C'mon, I'll race you to sleep."

"I accept your challenge, lovely. No cheating this time."

"If only I had a 'put anything to sleep' Thu'um!" she lamented quietly. They slipped into her bed, where they held each other close, talking softly until sleep claimed one, then the other.

* * *

Laure stretched in bed, letting her hand drift over the suede shirt Vilkas still wore. In her mind she still felt a lingering tinge of guilt and sorrow, but overall, she felt much better. She slid out of bed before Vilkas woke and stole downstairs. Lydia came down later and helped dump out the tub, roll it away. They were sitting down with hot tea and breakfast when a heavy step on the stairs caught Lydia's attention. Vilkas came down, a mildly bemused expression on his face.

"Good morning to you both," he said in an agreeable tone, combing his fingers through his hair. He dropped onto the bench near Laurelin, straddling it. He reached out and slyly traced a finger up her soft cheek, then he leaned over and brushed her lips with his own. "A sweet start to what is sure to be a busy day, no doubt." Laure handed him a plate of food and a mug of tea, agreeing quietly, a soft blush creeping up her cheeks.

* * *

Lydia froze a moment when Vilkas appeared on the stairs. _Interesting, I kinda figured the big one would be back._ She had not heard him arrive last night and it threw her off a bit that she had slept through the entire night, heedless of who was entering the house. That he was quietly visiting her Thane in the middle of the night made her wonder what his intentions really were.

Vilkas greeted her warmly, though, and the smile he gave Laurelin was clearly one of genuine affection. When he sat himself next to her Thane, Lydia couldn't help but notice how close he sat, the intimacy of his caress, and the smile on her lips when he leaned forward to kiss her softly. _I didn't think she _could _blush! More interesting yet!_ she thought, dropping her gaze to her plate.

She knew they had gone off together after Kodlak Whitemane was slain, but even Farkas had been unusually tight-lipped about the details. Something had clearly happened while they were traveling together, but the Bosmer she served seemed happy. By Talos, even Vilkas seemed more relaxed and content than she had ever seen him before. She had seen him cheerfully drunk numerous times throughout the years, but there had always been an underlying edge that made him prickly to be around. That, and most people didn't seem to get his biting, sarcastic sense of humor when it manifested.

Well, this was a development she would keep an eye on. She still didn't know how Farkas was going to take this turn when he found out. _Although...they aren't_ hiding _anything. Hmm. Maybe he already knows. Whatever, as long as I don't need to puncture anyone..._

* * *

Laurelin cleared her throat after finishing her tea. "Lydia, I'll be leaving again in a few days. Is there anything that needs my attention before I go?"

"Nope. Everything was quiet here while you were gone, 'cept for that one's giant brother mooning about, looking liked a kicked pup, wondering if you had returned yet."

Lydia gestured to Vilkas with her mug, who grunted out a low, "Sounds about right."

The raven-haired Nord stood up, straightening her armor. "I'm heading to the market; anything you need?" Laurelin gave her housecarl a list, plopping a heavy sack of gold into the other woman's palm.

"I guess I shouldn't tell you to get yourself something pretty, aye?"

"Aye, although it was kind of funny when you got all huffy the other day and told me to get something sharp instead." Lydia smiled at her Thane and left soon after, leaving Laurelin and Vilkas to themselves.

She and her mate focused their energies on the preparations they needed to make for the journey to Ysgramor's tomb. Vilkas surprised Laure by crafting a batch of potions to take, while she carefully fletched a few quivers of ebony-tipped arrows.

Later, Vilkas was looking through Laurelin's collection of maps. "These are quite good; where did you get them?" he queried.

Laure glanced up from the witch head she was decanting carefully, replying, "Those are my own humble handiwork. I'm glad you like them!" She turned her attention back to the distasteful task at hand.

Vilkas nodded, his serious eyes studying the details on the parchments intently. "It almost looks as though the way we came down is shorter, but I think we should make for that other pass we saw; it was more to the east. It would put us closer to the tomb."

"I thought much the same thing, dear heart." she agreed, absently wiping her hands on her pants and then grimacing when she belatedly realized what she had smeared on herself.

As the sun was setting, Laure and Vilkas wrapped up the most pressing of the preparations they wanted to make. She left Lydia a large sum of money, leaned her travel pack just inside the door, and stepped out, arm-in-arm with Vilkas, heading straight up to Jorrvaskr.

Laure looked up at him and surprised him by saying, "I want you to carry Wuuthrad into battle. You carried the shards and made sure they were all there, plus it seems fitting for a Nord to carry it. Especially one who knows how to use it." She paused waiting for his answer.

"You just want me to carry it. Period," he quipped lightly, before continuing more seriously. "It is an honor to carry such a blade, one that I feel I've yet to earn. You should bear it, not I."

"I would carry it with pride if the darn thing didn't creep me out so badly." They bounded up the stairs, two at a time. "What happens if I cut _myself_ with it somehow. It does _extra_ damage to mer from what I've read."

"Just don't fall on it, and you'll do fine. Stop worrying." With that they shouldered through the doors together, to be greeted by the welcoming cries of their shield-siblings.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty- That Uncomfortable Conversation**

Vilkas let his twin steer him out of the Underforge and into the mead hall. He waved away invitations to join the rest of the Companions at the table, mumbling, "I need rest; we can catch up tomorrow. Good night." Farkas trailed Vilkas to his room, where the older brother immediately began pulling off his armor.

Farkas, true to his word, poured them each a tall tankard of mead, then sat back, massive legs out in front of him. He watched his brother, while Vilkas finished stripping off and began washing himself clean of days accumulation of filth. Sensing now wasn't the time to bring up what they needed to talk about, he filled in the silence with routine information. "I did what I could to take care of Kodlak for the funeral. Aela and Athis and Vignar all took care of most of the little details. I brought the logs for the fire up, though. Helped Vignar clean and dress him. Didn't much care for seeing the old man like that, but..."

"You did what was required of you. It is an honor to assist in such preparations, and I have every faith you did well, brother. Everything certainly seemed in order and taken care of. I'm proud of you."

It wasn't often Vilkas issued praise so readily, so Farkas covered his momentary flush of pride by saying, "We didn't get many jobs done; no one felt much like going out, not with things still unsettled. I think we need to do something about Torvar. I heard him prattling on to Athis about _things_. And he didn't stop drinking until just before you got back, only because Aela threatened to skin his balls if he didn't clean up and make it up to the Skyforge." Farkas paused and shook his head. "Torvar drinks too much."

"We can deal with that soon enough, Farkas. We'll come to a decision within the Circle about what we should do. Don't trouble yourself about it any further." Vilkas wiped himself dry, feeling clean and tingly. It was a refreshing change for the better. He swiped the waiting mead and raised it to his brother. "Thank you for taking care of business while I was off being hot-headed. You bring us honor." He tilted his head back and drained the vessel in one long gulp. Farkas followed suit, wiping his whiskery face with his forearm.

Vilkas dressed quickly, then dragged his brother across the hall, where they settled up against the bar, Farkas behind like always, leaning his heavy body across the smooth planks. It was the closest thing to a ritual they had. Farkas would pour, filling the narrow area behind the bar with his massive frame; Vilkas straddled a stool, one bare foot on the rungs, the other drumming out a soft rhythm on the wood frame of the bar.

Farkas refilled the empty tankards twice before venturing into the silence that stretched between them, "So, you came back with the fragments of Wuuthrad, destroyed the Silver Hand, got the girl, and made some peace with your beast blood. Sounds like a fine tale." His eyes studied the familiar grain of the heavy wood, shining smooth from years of polishing in places, nicked and scratched in others.

Vilkas cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Ah. I feel like I owe you an explanation not a tale. Perhaps even an apology. Where to start?"

"You could start with why you never told me you were interested in her too." His rough voice was heavy with sadness. It bothered him that his brother had not communicated with him. Beyond feeling hurt at being deceived by his twin, when Vilkas didn't share things with him, it usually meant he wanted to hide whatever it was from _himself_ as well. Speaking things out loud to a twin was like talking to a mirror. To yourself.

Vilkas cleared his throat. "Ah truth be told, I wasn't sure of my own feelings for her for quite a while. It was fairly clouded by the blood. Aside from her being almost painfully happy most of the time, I didn't ever think badly of her. I don't honestly know _when_ I began viewing her as more than just another shield-sister."

Farkas uncorked another bottle, his huge hands completely engulfing it. "Start where you're comfortable. Another?" He raised the bottle and an eyebrow to his brother, who blew out a long sigh and pushed his tankard forward.

"I guess it must have started that first night, when she tried to punch me in the balls..."

"...you know how it goes. This starveling, half naked mer slinks in and wants to join the Companions. So when the old man told me to test her arm, I humored him, even though I just wanted to scream that Jorrvaskr had no place for her."

"You were battling the blood. It always makes you mean and irrational, not being able to change," Farkas offered, always willing to forgive his brother.

"Not a valid reason to be an ass, unfortunately. So she follows me up, and when I go to test her, she has the _sauce_ to use just her fists. 'This seems to be the accepted way,' or something like that. And before I know it, this tiny mer is swinging at my goods! She was feinting of course, and she landed a solid punch on me before I called it. She is incredibly fast, never saw it coming. I was sure after she punched my shield she would slink away. But she didn't. When I told her she needed to take my sword up to Eorland, she did, but she had this look. Like she wanted to claw my eyes out for a moment. She looked feral, but then she smirked at me when I told her it was probably worth more than she was, for some reason that amused her."

"She has Chillrend, brother," Farkas announced quietly. "In Riften, she has another house there."

"Chillrend..." breathed Vilkas thoughtfully. "Truly?"

"She says so. She doesn't brag much, so I figure she's got it. So what else?" He topped off their drinks, tossing the empty bottle into a basket.

"Well I guess after she joined, she disappeared for a while; then she showed up again and well..." Vilkas cleared his throat.

"She came back and jumped in my bed; is that it?"

"Somewhat. At the time, I didn't see it as me wanting her. She was interesting, but not physically so. More, I was fascinated by how raw she can be. She doesn't simper; she doesn't play those same games all the other women do. She breaks the molds."

"I like that about her. She's honest." Farkas agreed, uncorking another bottle, pouring for his brother first, then himself.

"So, she left after fighting that first dragon and came back, and something had changed. I could see she seemed sad, hungry for something, more focused. It's easy to look at her skipping around and think she doesn't understand the gravity of her burdens. I think nothing could be further from the truth. She still doesn't know _why _she of all people was chosen to be the Dovahkiin, but she's doing it, nonetheless."

"People expect a lot from her. It can't be easy. Who really wants to be a legend in their own life? To many hassles." Farkas toyed with his mug, bouncing it between his fingertips. "What happened to change your mind about her, you know."

"Wasn't just one thing. It happened over time. After she took the blood, and Skjor, well she was pretty well glued to your hip. Thank you."He smiled as his hulking brother poured another round. Vilkas was beginning to feel the effects of so many rapid drinks, his head humming slightly. "I like her fire. That night she took on Uthgurd, you heard her, she wanted to fist fight _naked_. Then there was the tree and the singing..."

"Which was adorable, admit it, brother." Farkas grinned when his brother nodded.

"Aye. So she drags me along on her trip to the Eldergleam Sanctuary, and by the time we got back, with her singing to that damned sapling still, I was already looking forward to going out with her again. I couldn't fathom why. But she gets things done, doesn't make a fuss, and seems to make an effort to do what she says she is going to."

"She took on a hagraven and a handful of witches to help a tree. I would have liked to see that." Farkas leaned back to fetch up another bottle. Vilkas belched quietly, pushed his tankard forward.

"I want to see her fight a dragon! That would be a sight to see! Using her Thu'um and bow!" Vilkas' eyes lit up as he and his twin let their conversation sidetrack to the topic of dragons for a while. They drank steadily, opening and emptying bottle after bottle. Farkas had one eye squinted as he shakily tried to pour another drink. These two could pound them back, but both had forgotten to eat anything substantial that day, travel and funeral preparations having kept them preoccupied.

Vilkas had his head resting on his palm, elbow propped heavily on the bar. He waved off his twin's offer of another fill. "I've had enough for now, thanks. Have you seen her breathe fire yet?"

Farkas snorted, almost spilling his brimming tankard. "She does not breathe fire!"

"She does, though. Shouts it actually. Part of her Thu'um. Saw her torch a Silver Hand in a heartbeat." He snapped his fingers, "Just like that, the sod was burned to a crisp."

"Glad she just knocked me into a wall then. Word of advice, don't tickle her." He gestured to the wall he fuzzily-by this point everything was looking a little fuzzy, and feeling that way too—remembered crashing into when he tickled her that night. "By the gods, Vilkas, she is powerful; I'm glad she's on our side."

"Aye, she is powerful. It's a fascinating dichotomy. World-shatteringly powerful Dragonborn, treasures sunsets more than the fairest jewel. A peaceful warrior. Trying to find good, willing to change herself and do it with a smile if that is what is needed. And accepting responsibilities no one wants to shoulder."

"She gave up a lover and control of her business to train with us, you know?" Farkas finally came around the corner of the bar and sat down heavily.

"Aye, per-periph...ahaha." Vilkas chuckled as he slurred the word a bit, "Peripherally, I was aware. At the time it wasn't relevant." They fell silent a moment before Vilkas offered more, tongue considerably loosened by now, "I din't actually start to see her beauty until you left for Winterhold, not too long ago, I suppose. I guess with mer, a bit of familiarity creates a finer appreciation for eerily blue eyes, tapered eyebrows, long pointy ears..."

"Your fawning brother, and it disturbs me." Farkas joked.

"Pale, smooth skin..." Vilkas' gaze was far away as he gushed on.

"She has lots of scars though, too."

"Delicate hands, that float like birds through the air..."

"Stop, you're scaring me."

"But the way she grips her sword, and the look in her eye when she finishes a battle! It inflames the blood, brother!" Vilkas was smiling a fierce, hungry smile as he drunkenly proclaimed this last.

"Yup, you've had too much. I'll get you some water." Farkas grabbed a jug of water and plunked it down on the bar in front of his slumped older brother.

"What does she see in me?" Vilkas peered blearily into the bottom of his empty tankard.

"Me, but smarter and scrawnier. Drink up. Nice, cool water there."

Vilkas picked up the water jug, eyes far away as he sipped at first, then realized how dehydrated he'd become and managed to finish most of it. "I claimed her," he finally admitted quietly.

"I know. You both seem happy. I hope you are, at least." Farkas shifted on his stool, brow furrowed slightly. "I guess I understand. You two suit each other. You're both smart, worldly, love books, and hunting. You deserve someone like her, Vilkas. I think you two, I dunno, make sense." he sighed and then smiled. "About time you got one over on me."

"What are you talking about, Farkas?"

"Well in the past, it was always me ending up with your lovers after you scared them off."

"This is not the same as that, but I appreciate the sentiment." He flapped his big hand aimlessly in his brothers direction. "It was never my intent to sh-steal your woman. You know that, aye?"

"It would only be stealing if I had any hope of keeping her, making her happy for the rest of my life. You do that, you make her happy, and I could not bear any grudge." He stretched his wide shoulders and continued, "You know, I'm hungry. You wanna go see if there's anything to eat left upstairs?"

"That is a superior idea, little brother. I should have eaten earlier, but just didn't have time." They rose and somewhat unsteadily swaggered down the hall, and upstairs, where plenty of food still waited. Sitting down they set to filling plates, bantering and bickering in the fashion of brothers.

Starting to sober up a bit, Vilkas wondered aloud, "Kodlak never mentioned these Glenmoril Witches to me. Why didn't he confide in me about his discoveries before Laurelin left to collect their heads?"

"Probably didn't want you to get your hopes up."

"Aye, to have the hope of a cure dangled before our eyes and then have it rot just as we began to hope...that would be a cruel blow. Did he ever ask you questions about her?" Farkas knew precisely who the "her" in question was.

"Yeah, a few. He wanted to know if I felt she is a good fit in the Companions, what I thought of her skills and abilities, whether I thought she was honorable. Oh, and how much I told her about the blood when she found out. Why? What did he ask you?"

"Much the same, and more." he admitted. Kodlak had called him downstairs to discuss the usual business, bills, jobs, Torvar and his habit of wandering drunk through town without pants. Also how he was coping with the blood raging inside. He had admitted it was both easier and more difficult in some ways while he spent time with their newest member. Kodlak hadn't smiled, not quite.

* * *

"It would seem your initial hesitance to allow her to join has vanished. Tell me, what do you think of our Laurelin now?"

"I think she is a capable warrior, a very fine addition to the ranks of the Companions," Vilkas replied in a carefully neutral tone.

"A fine answer from the master-at-arms. Truly, it warms my heart that you begin to look past the surface and see the potential within. You have now had many opportunities to see her stretched to the breaking point with the blood. How do think she will fare? Will she forget herself?"

"I don't foresee a problem. Previously she underestimated how quickly the wolf-spirit insinuates it's way into our thoughts. She is wary now, once she has a few moons behind, I think it will come naturally to her. Perhaps even be the asset she hoped it would be." Vilkas couldn't help but wonder if the rot was making the old man daft. Kodlak himself had accepted her, was he now questioning his own judgment?

"Well, for good or ill, she has the blood now, and I want her in control of herself as soon as possible. I would like you to continue assisting her, Vilkas. It is good to have a more experienced person nearby, and I feel it also does your own spirit good. You have seemed more at ease with yourself these last few days, more like your old self."

Vilkas nodded, sighed and looked up, his features twisted with some inner anguish. "Aye, in some ways I am more easy. Giving her the guidance she needs has helped focus my thoughts. In some ways. But, Harbinger, my wolf-spirit is increasingly interested in claiming her. I worry that the blood will overcome me and claim her. She deserves better than a broken shell of a man."

"Vilkas, are you saying that you begin to care for her as a woman and not just a sister? Ah, her fire is warming even you, who burns so brightly. She is a fine woman, Vilkas, and passing clever. If your interest in her is serious, I feel you could do no better."

"She is involved with my brother, however. Farkas seems very fond of her. I don't wish to cause any problems."

"If I may, the nature of her relationship with your twin seems to be in the 'shield-sibling with lusty perks' category. I think you and Laurelin have the potential for something much deeper. I am perhaps not the most experienced in matters of the heart, but I feel a connection has been forming between you and our not so little Bosmer Dragonborn these last few days. This tired old man will confess to you, Vilkas. It would warm my heart to see you find someone you could stand with, someone who could help heal your heart. You aren't a broken shell of a man. You just lack that one part that will complete you.

Vilkas grumbled "I didn't say I was ready to ask for her hand in marriage, Kodlak. Besides, Bosmer don't usually commit like that."

"I wasn't suggesting you haul her off to Riften this very moment, boy. I'm merely saying, if you feel more for her than just brotherly affection, don't stew on it. And don't bottle it up on account of your brother. More than anyone, he would want to see you find something special."

"Why does this feel like the nightmare I used to have about going to my Companion trials without pants?" groaned Vilkas.

"Feeling unprepared for something, Vilkas?" Kodlak teased lightly. Finally he let a smile creep across his weathered features.

* * *

Vilkas had hastily changed the subject after that. He hadn't wanted to admit it at the time, but the old man had been correct. When he and Laurelin had stood before that last door in Driftshade, one thing had crystallized in his mind. They were about to take on who knew how many desperate Silver Hand, either one of them could be injured mortally and die, and she was offering her_ hand_. He would be damned to Oblivion before he backed away from this one little thing. When he pulled her close and finally crushed his lips to hers, and she returned the kiss, his heart had soared, lungs squeezing painfully in his chest, full realization hitting him that she hadn't slapped him upside the head. Told him he had overstepped his boundaries. That the little glances she snuck at him meant something. That he was allowed to hold her, and be with her when she was most vulnerable. And she allowed him to help her and bring comfort, and gave it in return.

"Oh gods, I've got it bad!" he muttered around a mouthful of beef stew.

Farkas washed a mouthful down with another tankard of mead. "Do you ever. Never thought I'd see you all moony over someone. Good for you, though." While continuing to drink steadily, the bigger twin's mood still seemed cheerful enough.

Vilkas met his brothers eyes, and found himself saying, "She is worried. She would probably like to have a chance to talk with you soon."

"Sure, we can talk, but it's fine. You two go, be amazing together. I mean it. You can tell her we'll talk later, but for now, as long as you two are happy together, there are no hard feelings." Farkas realized he was repeating himself and filled his mouth with a sweet roll instead of continuing.

Vilkas sat with his head in his hands a few minutes staring at the empty bowl, then pushed himself off his chair. Still not entirely sober and completely exhausted, he clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder, "I'm going down to talk to Laurelin. I'll see you later brother. Thank you for understanding. It means much, I hope you know that."

"Yeah, just don't go soft on me. We need you sharp still." Farkas polished off the pastry in two bites and licked his fingers clean of the icing, clapped his own hand over his brothers for a moment

Vilkas turned away, smiling, and strode barefoot from Jorrvaskr. Boots were unimportant right now-he was going to tell his lovely mate the good news, even if he had to wake her up to do it. And then he would hold her tight. _Not ever letting go _.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-one- Harbinger**

The next day dawned clear and bitterly cold. Tall, white clouds lurked on the horizon to the north, threatening snow. Aela, the twins, and Laurelin were traveling together to Ysgramor's tomb, far to the north, off the coast near Winterhold.

They all stopped briefly at Breezehome on their way to the gates to pick up Laure's pack and Wuuthrad. Farkas had thoughtfully spent yesterday crafting a special harness so she could carry it more easily.

"I had to guess on the measurements, but I think I did pretty good." His bright eyes skimmed over Laure, then to his boots.

"You did more than good. It fits perfectly." She softly kissed his stubbly cheek, "Thank you!" It was still a cumbersome thing to have an axe banging about back there, but at least she didn't have to carry it in her arms and the wickedly sharp blades where covered.

The four of them turned as one and loped out the gates, saluted by the guards, "Hail, Companions!"

The journey was swift, cutting east along the Pale, then heading north toward Windhelm, then west and north through the mountains. The trip was thankfully free of chance encounters with bandit camps, trolls, or dragons. When they blew past Windhelm, Farkas wanted to know why they weren't staying at the Candlehearth Inn.

Laure scowled and picked up the pace. She didn't much care for Windhelm, nor it's Jarl. It still burned her, the way he had forced her to run through a nightmarish inferno-complete with falling chunks of fiery debris and dragon-with her hands bound. All the remaining Stormcloaks had been released. Ulfric had declined releasing her though, even if it meant she had to leap from a burning tower into a broken building twenty feet below and _hope_ she didn't need her hands to break her fall.

They took rooms in Winterhold instead, stamping the snow off their boots, shaking it out of their hair. The inn was a modest affair but clean and well kept. Laure paid for the rooms, hot meals and baths, then bought the rest of the supplies she wanted, oil-cloth sacks, rope, a small sled, lengths of catgut, and all the travel rations the innkeeper had. After dinner, she made a short foray into the forest, coming back later with several split saplings, stripped of branches.

The four Companions sat near the fire in the common room, drinking mulled wine while Laurelin began deftly crafting several pairs of snow-shoes from the saplings and catgut.

"What sort of trick are those?" asked Farkas as the first pair came together.

"The kind that saves your life, Icebrain." Aela interjected before the Bosmer could reply. "Those little shoes distribute your weight over a wider area, allowing you to walk _over_ snow and ice. The little sticks give extra balance and let you poke ahead for holes you might fall into."

"Oh, okay then." he shrugged, a nonplussed look on his scruffy face.

The next day found them shuffling slowly across the ice floes. Laurelin had made them all strip their armor off and put it in the oiled sacks, then they disrobed further to rub a spicy-smelling unguent over their whole bodies, even into their scalps.

"You're helping me to wash this mess out, sister." Aela grumbled as she worked it into her long, red hair.

"My pleasure, sister." Laure winked.

"Can I watch?" chuckled Farkas.

"NO!" cried the two shield-sisters in unison.

"Sorry, had to ask!" he rumbled with a wicked grin on his handsome face.

They finished rubbing in the warm, slick goo and realized it seemed to be insulating them from the worst of the bitter cold on their bare limbs. Thus, wearing a few furs for modesty's sake and their snow-shoes, they forged ahead, Farkas trailing behind, dragging the sled that carried their gear. Roped together for safety, the four of them crept carefully over the shifting, tilting ice.

The precautions proved to be the lifesaving ones they were hoped to be. As Aela scrambled over a particularly unstable block of ice, it tipped suddenly, spilling her over the side before she could react. Icy water swallowed her up, her cry of terror cut short. Vilkas, tied to the line a few yards ahead, barely held on, cursing as he was jerked backwards. Behind her, Farkas seized the rope and furiously hoisted it hand-over-hand, while up front, Laurelin frantically secured their line with an iron spike

Blue and shivering, Aela was lifted up, spitting salt water, her clear eyes wide with horror. The twins muscled her up next to Laure. "Vilkas, help me get the wet furs off. Farkas, get some dry ones; we need to dry her off, wrap her good and trust the goop. You Nords are sturdy..." She popped open a bottle and stuffed it into Aela's shaking hand. "Drink up, a little resist cold fortified with mead. Drink up," she repeated as Aela hesitated, then relented, draining it slowly through chattering teeth. They finally got her warmed up enough to move, and they were able to make it over the last stretch without further incident.

They stepped onto the frozen shingle with relief and gathered a pile of driftwood but couldn't get it to light. Finally, Laure grimaced and made everyone stand behind her. She summoned the power of the Thu'um, shouting out, "**Yol**!" A great roiling gout of fire erupted out of her, lighting the scraps piled before her.

Vilkas leaned over to his twin, brow lifted, a smirk on his face. "_Shouts fire_, brother."

Farkas grinned, "You're the one who gets to keep her happy, brother. Don't fuck up."

Laurelin and Aela exchanged a glance, Laure finally commenting, "Hardly what the Greybeards intended me to use my Voice for."

Huddling as close to the fire as she could, Aela quipped, "But it gets the job done!" her teeth still chattering. They warmed themselves and rested while they ate, excited to be here.

* * *

Vilkas had always wanted to make a pilgrimage here, and he wished he had made this one in a more worthy frame of mind. However, it still plagued him to know he had succumbed to the blood, in every way he could, going on a killing rampage, changing for the first time after denying it so long, allowing himself to claim Laurelin as his mate.

A part of him knew he could rationalize some of it. Laurelin had needed someone experienced nearby to help keep an eye out and make sure she didn't rampage or lose herself. However, the other part of him whispered, _I didn't have to take her. I could have taken Aela, or Athis or dragged Farkas out with me. It didn't need to be her. A part of me wanted a chance to be near her again_. Tricked by his wolf or simply acting on what his heart was compelling him to do, he hadn't been thinking clearly when he rushed out of Jorrvaskr with her after Kodlak's death, nor had he been doing what was best for the Companions. Just because things seemed to be working out well with _her_ didn't mean his actions were right. He had simply been lucky; he understood this now. They could have returned to the mead hall to find it torn apart, rudderless, in a storm of conflict. Leaving in a rage had been a mistake; he acknowledged this now.

While he declined to go further than the initial chamber, he was more than willing to offer what advice he could in regard to what they would face inside, most specifically the specters of Ysgramor's greatest champions waiting to test their worthiness to pass. "I think I will stay here, my heart is heavy with grief. I acted foolishly after the old man's death, let rage get the better of my reason. I don't wish to carry my dishonor into this place. I can't bear to face my predecessors with such actions so fresh in my mind." He regarded the others earnestly. "You three go ahead; I'll wait here. Be wary of the guardians. These are the ghosts of Ysgramor's original Companions, and they will want to test your worthiness before they allow you to proceed."

Laurelin slipped into his arms, quietly saying, "Dear one, you have nothing to be ashamed of. One moment of rage does not wash out a lifetime of service and loyalty. The Companions are _warriors_. I think they of all people would understand the rage and sorrow that comes with losing someone you love. I hardly think they would fault you for seeking retribution for your Harbinger. Come with us; prove you _are_ worthy to them."

Vilkas kissed her forehead, "You are sweet, but I think I would prefer to stay. I will find another way to prove myself worthy, but for now, I feel I must pass." She nodded sadly and pulled away.

When Laure slipped Wuuthrad off her back, he nodded in encouragement. He watched with pride as she carefully slid the long handle into the towering statues hands, which seemed to clasp about the haft as it clicked into place.

The quiet rumble of ancient stonework revealed a passage that led into the tomb itself. Vilkas kissed Laurelin, whispering, "May the Gods watch over your battles, love. I'll wait for you here."

She kissed him back, hanging onto his lip a moment with her sharp teeth, before releasing him. "I'll see you soon, lover." She turned to catch up with Farkas and Aela, who had already eagerly plunged through the door. Vilkas watched them go, regretting not feeling up to the task, regretting his own actions to a degree. Not going in seemed a fitting penance, or a start to one. Instead, he watched his Bosmer lover disappear, a witch head in the sack over her shoulder, until she was out of sight. He then spent several hours meditating until Farkas rejoined him.

Vilkas quirked his dark eyebrows up in question, to which Farkas responded, "Spiders. The really big kind. Want some company?" Vilkas scooted over and made room next to the pillar he leaned on, and they talked quietly of the things Farkas had encountered within.

"What is it like inside? Did you encounter any of the guardians?" Vilkas asked his brother.

"Dusty, dark. I wasn't paying much attention, too busy fighting off blue ghosts. I think you'd like it though, lots of old carvings." The big man shrugged his heavy shoulders. "We didn't get too far in before I turned around, though."

"Sounds interesting. Maybe we can come back another time and explore it together."

"I don't fancy coming back over the ice again, Vilkas..."

Several hours later, another shift of stone announced the opening of another door. Two weary, smiling shield-sisters emerged from the hidden passage, leaning on each other but intact. Laurelin was carrying a huge, round shield, which she carefully set at the feet of the statue before lying limply on the floor. One look at the triumph shining in their eyes told the tale, though-Kodlak was freed of the curse of the blood and now his spirit could travel to Sovngarde. Vilkas and Farkas were quietly elated. There was a cure! Suddenly, the twins understood that they were allowed to hope for the afterlife they wanted for themselves, not the one they had been duped into.

Thus, it was with preoccupied minds they initially heard Aela and Laurelin saying they had seen Kodlak and in fact talked to him. Slowly dragging their giddy-seeming thoughts from the cure to what was being said, they understood. Kodlak intended Laurelin to succeed him as Harbinger.

Vilkas felt as though he had been thrown in front of a stampeding mammoth. Everyone knew the old man had been currying _him_ to be the next Harbinger for years. What had changed Kodlak's mind? He had to know that the Dragonborn could not always be counted on to be in Jorrvaskr. Granted it wasn't required that the Harbinger stay in the mead hall. Far from it. No it was more the small detail that Kodlak had never really hinted he wanted Laurelin in his position when he passed. What was the old man hiding? He supposed he wouldn't find out this side of the afterlife, so he tried not to stew. The old man usually had damned good reasons for what he did, even if those weren't clear at first.

Laurelin certainly had the potential to be a great Harbinger, and Vilkas would be delighted to assist her in any way she needed. The Bosmer in question was still sprawled on the floor, breathing slowly, eyes closed in exhaustion. Vilkas took a waterskin and some dried meat to her, which she gratefully accepted. Leaning on him, she sipped her water, thoughts still far away. Vilkas was content to let her have some peace, but he did wrap his solid arms around her and squeeze.

She was tired, he could tell, but she also smiled; slaying Kodlak's wolf spirit, fighting their way through the ranks of champions of old, it seemed to have brought her a bit of peace. If one could ignore the burden—_no, the honor_-that had been laid across her shoulders.

* * *

The four of them stayed a few more days, exploring the tomb, resting, drinking in the essence of old glory that seeped into the very stonework. Laure and Vilkas found an old trail twisting up the steep hillside of the island and followed it. While they were still scrambling up, Laure heard a by now familiar chanting coming from somewhere nearby.

"Do you hear that, love? I think it's coming from up there! She bounded up the last stretch to skid to a halt before the chanting word wall. Vilkas, only a moment behind, came up and stared in awe as the glowing runes scribed into the stone flared and seemed to flow across the space between and into Laurelin, then faded away.

She was shaking from the energy, but she was whole and seemed well, so he didn't interfere. When she shook her head and smiled at him, he knew he had nothing to worry about. At least not up here.

They had a fine view of the coastline from up here; the College of Winterhold was looming on the bluffs nearby. Laure leaned her head on Vilkas' shoulder, still gazing across the bay. "Are you upset Kodlak made me the new Harbinger? I had no idea he was going to choose me."

He was quiet for a moment, then in a thoughtful tone of voice, tried to explain," I'm not upset with _you_, love. I know you did not ask for the position. Aye, I was surprised when you told me, yet now I feel it confirms what I believe. My actions proved I am unworthy of the title of Harbinger; Kodlak knew what he was doing."

"I disagree, Vilkas. An unworthy man would look at his actions and justify them to his last breath. He would _never_ admit to any fault, nor regret his actions later. You judge yourself more harshly than you should."

"Perhaps." Laurelin couldn't see his full face, but she could see the corner of his mouth tugged into a thoughtful frown. They stayed a while, arm in arm, letting the cold wind wash the smell of the sea and ice over them, until they grew hungry; then they meandered back down the hill to rejoin Aela and Farkas. Tomorrow they were leaving; with their hearts easier and full of hope, they would finally turn their steps back toward home. Jorrvaskr and the rest of the Companions waited.

* * *

Laurelin smiled sadly as she read Kodlak's journal. Again. They had been back in Whiterun for a week now, slowly things were beginning to resume the appearance of normalcy. When she got back to town, she had put off going through the old man's effects until she remembered his journal. Hoping to gain some insights from it, she finally cracked it open and read it. Apparently, Kodlak had quietly fostered the hope that she might be the next Harbinger due to some dreams he'd had of late. Privately, Laurelin wished he'd had a longer life and had left her more time to deal with all of her other affairs. As it was, she was increasingly aware of how long she had been away from the Guild. She knew that soon she would need to return to Riften. _Bryn_. She sighed again.

"It's an honor he has set before you, not just a burden, or a bloody job," muttered Vilkas in her ear as he sat down next to her out on on the porch. He had been very supportive and helpful during her first week as Harbinger, chewed out Athis when the Dunmer had loudly expressed his disbelief that Kodlak would select a newcomer to fill his position, helped her sort out the paper work, bills, and contracts needing to be fulfilled. If he had any lingering doubts, he kept them to himself, opting to help her and thus the Companions in every way he could. While she was new to her role, she had experience with business and picked up the finer details rapidly. Once he let go of his disappointment, he acknowledged she would be a fine Harbinger.

She grinned at him. "It feels like everyone in Tamriel wants a piece. Or a piece of something fetched. Or a dragon slain..."

"Bandits. Don't forget the bandits."

"Certainly not. Speaking of fetching, I still need to go raid another tomb to find the horn of Jurgen Windcaller and take that Beacon somewhere. Care to join me, love?"

"I thought you would never ask!" A wide smile softened the hard planes of his face.

"Excellent. Beacon first, I'd say, then the Horn. I'd like to be as uninvolved with the daedra as possible!" _Then Riften_ she decided.

_So ends the first story of Laurelin Vo'Shai. Her tale will continue in the next installment, coming soon. I have to say, when I first started writing again, I thought I would be able to get away with writing a handful of short chapters, and that would be it. Boy was I WRONG! This story is changing and developing in ways I never imagined. If you have read this far, THANK YOU! I hope with all my heart you will continue traveling Skyrim with Laurelin, Vilkas, Farkas, and all the others. Fin~_

For now...


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